


Blood Red

by Dehmer



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Ishval Civil War, M/M, Obersten's War Timeskip AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-10 19:42:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 39,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11698584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dehmer/pseuds/Dehmer
Summary: Instead of being born 1899, Edward was born in 1892. He and his brother perform the ultimate taboo -human transmutation- in 1904. Captured by Furher Bradley before the year is out, Edward has become the government's puppet. Now it is 1908 and Order 3066 has been issued, allowing State Alchemists to be sent in to the war fronts as an effort to end the seven year war. With it, Edward is given a chance to oust the homonculi, ruin their and Father's plans, and save his little brother from them.(Based on Obersten's War Timeskip AU over on Tumblr)AN: This will be updated sporadically. Constructive criticism is welcome and I ask for it. This is the first fanfiction I actually intend to finish. I have plans for this so please treat me kindly. *bows*





	1. (Malavi)

**Author's Note:**

> This Fanfiction is based off of Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood (2009) and Obersten's War Timeskip AU. I own only the plot of this story.
> 
> I ask for any constructive criticism possible and for it only to be respectful. While I know this [fanfiction] isn't the best, I ask that my efforts at least be respected as I am trying and am still learning.
> 
> As always, please check out Obersten's tumblr and their AUs for FMA. They really are amazing. The link is as follows:  
> http://obersten.tumblr.com/aus

Reaching the status of State Alchemist was that of high prestige but also of shame. On one hand, you were considered talented enough to do what you do professionally with the Amestrian Government, sanctioned within their arms so long as you had something beneficial to contribute. Many privileges were given to those called State Alchemists. The State Libraries opened up their gates. Funding would be granted based on one’s research. Wages were earned with your work everyday. The rank of Major was an automatic given if you became more military based, manpower instead of brains. Respect was a due to collect upon, not earned. If you were deemed a boon to the Government, you were kept.

Of course, with these great gifts came the backlash from the public eye. No longer were they of the citizen’s camaraderie. They were the lapdogs of the military. If they were given orders to jump, they would do it through a hoop. Heel, and they would be docile. Attack, and mayhem borne of Hell would eat across the land until their target was either reached or destroyed. The People don’t care for State Alchemists. A majority hold a high dislike for them. The supporters were far apart and few in numbers. Those figures dropped even further once wartime arose in Amestris. Body counts that only grew higher and higher became the staple of the State Alchemists. The People did not see a person, they saw a rabid animal, a destructive machine with a very fragile leash around it’s neck. The People did not see the remorse and guilt in the eyes of any State Alchemist, they saw a monster. The People did not see the blue of a State Alchemists uniform, they saw the stains of all those murdered in the name of war.

Red like the last bleeding light of a setting sun. Red like the explosion from a fire. Red like the Philosopher's Stone.

Red like the sand on Ed’s white gloved hands.

The young alchemist looked at the color staining his covered hands. He knew what it was, couldn’t deny it even if he wanted to. He looked up from his hands, seeing the bright light of the setting sun leaving a raging fire in the sky of yellows, oranges, and reds. Night would come shortly and with it, sleep. Already he knew it wouldn’t be peaceful. The sight of the decimated sandstone buildings was like an imprint on the inside of his eyelids; Another memory saved to torment him later. The haggard screams of the dying would visit him in his every waking hour, he knew they would. Even now, the sound would multiply and divide in a barbaric crescendo and decrescendo. A symphony of despair.

His feet moved, ladened down with the weight of his actions. ‘For Al,’ he would remind himself. It was his only solace in this desolation, the only thing that kept him walking. Up the tumultuous sands of the desert he would walk, to the top of the dune. Its sandy peak raised high above and far away from the ruins its shadow ran from. At its highest point, Ed would stop and look behind him, face dusty and marred, dried blood caking the side of his face. His golden hair shined in the waning sunlight, burning brightly for all nearby to see. His ruined white coat floated in the easy breeze, raising behind him like a grisly mantle of death. His liquid gold eyes were bright but listless, lost in the ravaged scene before them. It was a sight many soldiers looked up at and lost themselves within the beauty of the moment, the raw emotion felt from the picture. A look the like of that which could never be replicated. Atop that high dune, standing by himself was the prodigy all revered and feared. Behind the soldiers and before Ed’s eyes lay some nameless little town. The sun casted its rage from behind the smoking remains, leaving the town in a foreboding shadow surrounded by red.

Behind Ed came a much taller man, his uniform kept and even. He was clean and his white coat would have looked new if it weren’t for the discoloration of grime along the trailing bottom edge. His soft gaze looked at the havoc they were all leaving behind. Ed paid him no attention, horrified eyes frozen on the disrupted land. One foot towards camp, the other pointed at the denouement of the beginning, Ed stood half facing what he created over his shoulder. He started leaning to move back towards the destruction but a gentle and large hand landed on his shoulder. Ed looked up at the grim lines surrounding Alex’s face, the guilt and shame hiding in those scarred eyes. Alex shook his head and Ed looked back one last time.

“It wasn’t your fault, Edward,” the large man softly rumbled. “We both know you had no choice but to follow orders.”

The young blonde gritted his teeth, jaws clenched tight, lines of tension and self-revulsion drawing themselves over his features. If Alex noticed the lack of damage to every other soldier’s uniforms, he said nothing. There was nothing to be said. They’ve had this conversation over and over with the same results. What use was there for a repeat performance when they both knew the ending. In Edward’s eyes, it was his fault and it always would be.

At the age of 15, he alone destroyed that town.

And he had killed the 6,373 people that lived there with his own two hands.

Edward looked back down at the red sand covering his white gloved hands. It was the blood from those he killed. They all bled. Most of the remains turned black after the Deconstruction of their bodies but the blood they spewed just before was still red. Red like the last bleeding light of a setting sun. Red like the explosion from a fire. Red like the Philosopher's Stone.

Blood red.


	2. (Vessman)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Relocation, Commanding Officers, and reassignments.

‘ _These sands are no different than the last_ ,’ Edward belatedly thinks. His tired golden eyes watch the bland scenery around the military-grade truck flash by. Normally, he would be sitting in one of the rinky-dinky little chairs that line the inside of the transport vehicle. Normally, he wouldn’t be joining a group towards the South-East of the Ishvalan Desert where a larger-scale battle will be taking place. So the word ‘normally’ doesn’t fit the situation. Following that, he took a seat on the tail of the truck, precariously balanced on the closed gate with his feet hanging off the end. He really didn’t have to worry of falling off. Edward’s already done that multiple times but he’s back in his spot not five minutes later. Regardless what people think, the military will not stop for anyone, not even an Alchemist. In lieu of that commodity, one has to get creative. One time, he rocketed himself back onto it with merely a clap, the sand falling apart midair which left Ed a clear landing in the back. Another, he made a rope, lassoed it onto the back of the truck, quickly made a solid shield-like piece of stone, and sand-surfed his way back onto the vehicle.

Each and every time Ed fell, the soldiers riding the same truck (Alex included) would gasp and call out. The first time, they looked so panicked that Edward had to hold his stomach from the laughing. The second time, they waited in anxious curiosity. The third was the surfing and they all had a good time over it. It isn’t much. They're still in a war. People are still being killed. The trucks won’t suddenly turn around and bring them home. The battle is still around the corner but for those few minutes, it's washed away with the joy, amusement, and happiness Edward’s antics bring about the men and women.

The memory leaves a pleasant and mellow grin on the blonde’s lips but the truck slowing down brings it back down into a grim frown. He can’t hear any fighting but he knows they’ve arrived. That’s the only reason the truck would ever slow down. So Edward stands and turns on his heels to face the rest of them. As a Lieutenant Colonel, he's a higher ranked officer than them. As the Fullmetal Alchemist, he is both their hope and their shame. He's only recently been brought into the battle front yet already he's raised in rank. He is the reason the majority of these people didn’t have to go into the last town and possibly die. Edward did the job for them in less than a fortnight. But he was only 16, his birthday having recently passed while journeying from one war zone to another. He knows many of them regret that it was he who had to fill that role.

“I know-...I know this is hell,” he slowly starts. “I know that none of you wished to be here. I also know that I don’t personally know any of you. But that doesn’t matter. We’re in this together. All I can tell you is try and cover your asses. This area is more active than ours ever was. There’s been reports of gunshots sounding off at night and dead bodies being found in the morning. Whatever you do, do not go off on your own. Try and stay together. That alone increases your chances of getting out of this alive.” The truck stops. Ed looks out the back and sees the other four trucks pulling in as well. “And whatever you do, do not pair with an alchemist.”

He doesn’t wait to hear any response, knows he won’t get a thing back. Alchemists are known to be thrown right in the front. Those unlucky enough to be sent out with them rarely ever return.

As Edward jumps out, Alex is only a step behind him, placing those large hands on the blonde’s shoulders to steady him before they’re gone and replaced with a solid form at his back. He would say something but Edward knows Alex’s actions are more of reassuring himself than keeping Ed safe. Everyone knows how Fullmetal is able to destroy a body from either long or short range. Its not a secret in any stretch of the imagination. Despite this, Alex is a near-constant presence around Edward and no matter what anyone says, the big guy has actually saved Ed’s life a couple times.

Edward may be a remarkable alchemist with lightening quick reflexes and the ability to transmutate without a circle but a bullet will kill anyone.

So will suicide.

“Let’s go,” he calls to them all, leading the way to their commanding officer standing not too far off. They all follow him, blue uniforms underneath crisp white overcoats giving them an impression of sheep following the shepherd as Ed’s own coat was nothing but a mess. He feels every possible pair eyes on him as people from the camp watch them all come, observe everyone else unload from the other four vehicles full of soldiers, the artillery trucks not even 15 seconds behind. He doesn’t look back at them. His eyes are only on the C.O., his mind on the next mission, his will on his end goal.

* * *

 

There’s no action that day, they find out. Instead, they’re left to set up their tents. Edward seems to be the one elected to find their entire company area to set up camp.

‘ _Then again,_ ’ Ed muses, ‘ _I am their commanding officer until reassignments are given._ ’ As Lieutenant Colonel, he is the one they were supposed to follow orders from. They did back in Malavi even though they were supposed to be following the orders of their Colonel while they were all part of the Battalion. Now, they’re a Company and under Ed’s jurisdiction as the highest ranked officer among them. A sigh and Ed is throwing down his supplies in a clear area, large enough to all of them. Of course, Alex sets his right next to Ed, the one Captain and four First Lieutenants following Alex. Between the seven of them, a small circle of tents is made, the rest of the 179 soldiers surrounding them as best they can. With his tent set-up, Ed can’t help but lament his position. In most cases, a Lieutenant Colonel manning a Company was an insult. The highest ranked officer needed would be a Major which right now made Edward look like an over glorified kid. His only way to save face is knowing the Colonel they were all under previously was even further insulted by having to lead a Battalion when usually that's a Lieutenant Colonel’s job. Ie, Edward’s job.

His golden eyes rove over the scene, seeing everyone that came in on the four trucks. In the back, he notices a young private struggling with his tent. Everyone else already has theirs up for the most part. With quick strides, the younger alchemist is at their right side and kneeling down to help.

“So, kid...what’s your name?” Ed starts. He feels Alex’s eyes on him but is thankful the Major doesn’t join. He briefly glances at the Private and sees how tense they are, hands now shaking, wide steel-blue eyes only looking down, a tight thin line on his lips. The young man’s nervous. Seeing as Ed can’t recall having seen them, they must be a new recruit just recently sent out. It must have been after Malavi; Edward would never be able to fully forget the faces that looked up at him while on that high dune.

“My name is Gaven Fox, Lieutenant Colonel s-sir!” The private’s hands twitch towards making a salute but ultimately stay down. At least that’s one good thing in Ed’s books but the title…

“When we’re not doing anything official, just call me Edward.” The alchemist of the two males sighs, quickly fixing one of the broken rods. Now the Private having difficulty makes sense. When he looks back up, Gaven is staring at Edward with incredulous eyes.

“I couldn’t! That’s just too disrespectful for what you’ve done for us! If it wasn’t for you- well, my dad would be dead instead of gravely wounded. He was in Malavi but was one of the unfortunate ones to fight on the outskirts of town while you…” At this, Gaven looks down, features cast in grieving shadows. “He told me in his latest letter that he feels you are to thank for him living. Wrote that he had an Ishvalan pointing a gun at his head point blank and you had come up from behind and killed them, saving my Dad.”

Ed wracks his mind for it, trying to remember who would have a resemblance to Gaven. He may not socialize with them or know them personally but he does try to remember their names and faces. If something happens to them, it helps to have someone else confirm the dead’s identity. It takes a few moments but then he gasps in recognition, snapping his fingers and pointing his right hand at Gaven, top half of his body facing the young Private.

“You’re Mark Delareux’s son, aren’t you!?” Ed’s eyebrows furrow. “Why do you have a different last name than your Dad?”

Gaven gives a small chuckle before replying while rubbing the back of his neck, eyes looking down and off to the side. “It was my mother’s name but she died shortly after giving birth to me. It was the plague that broke out about five years ago. My dad gave me my mother’s maiden name in memoration while my little sister has my dad’s last name.”

“Oh right! I remember now! I overheard him talking about his wife…” Ed snaps his fingers, looking down in concentration. “Eleanore! That’s right! Now this is making sense. Okay. Well, nice to meet you Gaven.”

Gaven smiles. “Nice to meet you as well, Fullmetal sir.”

Still with titles but… Ed shrugs. “I’ll take it.”

They finish putting them tent up in content silence. It doesn’t take that much longer before it’s as sturdy as all the ones surrounding it, if not a bit more thanks to Edward. When they complete the task, they both stand up. Without any warning, Edward reaches up to ruffle Gaven’s head, the cap slipping to the side and revealing short sandy-brown hair.

“You’re alright, Gaven,” Ed says, the brunette himself carefully placing his hat back on correctly. Ed turns around and starts walking back towards where his tent is, waving a hand over his shoulder. “Come join us tonight around the fire for dinner.”

“R-Right!” is all Ed hears in response.

Back at the circle of tents, Alex watches Ed with a steadfast gaze, one of benign curiosity. Ed looks up at the Major with one golden eye, his countenance one of resigned urging. Clearing his throat, Alex speaks.

“That was unusual of you, Elric,” the large man gently remarks. Edward looks down, stopping in front of the Strongarm Alchemist. His own face translates as downtrodden, grim acceptance, and premature grievance. “I’ve seen you aloof, calm, joking, but never as inquiring as you were with young Mister Fox.”

“He needs some pleasant first memory of enlistment that’s not one of desperation. I certainly could’ve used it.” The last is muttered with clenched fists inside of his pockets, anger writing lines over his features. The bangs of his golden hair make the perfect frame, contrasting against the darkened profile.

Alex watches in silence, remorse filling every facet of his face. They stay like that for a good few minutes.

“Come, young Elric,” Alex softly, gingerly says, breaking the stifling silence. “The sun is beginning to set and I was given word that Brigadier-General Vessman wishes to speak to you and I.” He turns and begins to lead the way, Edward quickly coming up to walk next to the Major with a scoff, side by side.

“What’s a Brigadier-General doing out in a war front? More to the point, what the hell does a pompous, pencil-pushing ass want with you and me?” Scorn drips from every word.

“Why I may be asking the same questions as you, I do politely request that you try to keep the derisiveness to a minimum. There are many who are very loyal to the Brigadier General.”

At that, Ed glances up at Alex from the corner of his eyes before settling back on the impromptu path before them. It doesn’t take a genius to understand the implications behind Alex’s words. No matter what Ed may say later, there are some who would report him as being treacherous or mutinous. That would have Ed out of here on a one-way trip to prison, if not a firing squad.

“Gotcha,” is all he says in response.

* * *

 

“Lieutenant Colonel Edward Elric, Major Alex Louis Armstong.”

“Sir!!” The both replied with a salute.

“At ease,” Vessman says in response. “Welcome.”

When Ed finally looks and studies the man, he sees silvery gray hair first and foremost. Second is the tanned skin most of the Southern Folk have, not the tan from the Desert sun. Third is the genial and easygoing smile. Fourth and final are the sharp hazel eyes that look and study him right back.

“Pleasure the see you both here,” Vessman fluidly utters. “I know you both most likely have no idea why you were called but rest assured that you have both done nothing wrong. This is about reassignments.” Alex’s posture relaxes but Ed’s stiffens further when those calculating eyes settle on him. “Major Alex Louis Armstrong, I am putting you in charge of the company you arrived with. Your C.O. will be Lieutenant Colonel Edward Elric. Edward, I am placing you in charge of one of the Battalions here. Under you, I am adding three more Companies. Those of Mustang, Kimblee, and Grand. All three are alchemists and I have files for you to read. A standing tent is still available to you if you wish to use it. All three Lieutenant Colonels use one.”

“Permission to stay with my tent where I am now, Brigadier General Vessman, sir?” Ed cautiously asks. Vessman’s eyes narrow while his small smile incrementally widens.

“Permission granted though I expect it to be used to any meetings with those under you after today. You will read the files here before leaving, Fullmetal. Memorise each before I see you leaving this tent.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Armstrong, you are dismissed.” Alex only bows and leaves. “Fullmetal, you are free to grab a meal then report back here to read those files on your own. I have matters to attend to. Dismissed.” Ed nods and goes to turn around but quick footsteps have him quickly facing the Brigadier General when fingers wrap around his metal arm. Ed openly glares at his Commanding Officer, not caring if it will get him punished. For a moment, both are silent until Vessman sighs and lets go, both hands clasping behind his back.

“Off the record, Edward, I approve of you,” Vessman nearly whispers. It throws Ed for a loop and the confusion must be written across his face as Vessman chuckles and continues on. “I know why you are here. Know that I do not condemn you. Know that I approve of what you are trying to accomplish. Know that no matter what may happen in the future, you have my support. As well as my aid.” Vessman calmly begins to walk by Edward but pauses right before the flaps of the entrance and exit. “Oh, and Ed? All the three Majors know is they are now under the command of Fullmetal. Whether you decide to meet them or not before combat is completely up to you. Regardless, the tent is yours to use until you head to bed. Toodle-loo!”

As the flaps close behind the Brigadier General, Ed blinks, still feeling whiplash from the unexpectedness of it all. The only other ones who know anything about Ed’s reason for being in this war are the Generals and Alex. It should make him worry but then he remembers the Brigadier-General’s words and tries to puzzle it out. What would Vessman have to gain by admitting all that. The man himself was small, only a head or two above Ed. He seemed to be in a good position. Vessman should feel no need to help Edward. But then it dawns on the young alchemist; Vessman is meant to die. Brigadier-Generals usually stay at base, behind a desk, commanding from afar. They are rarely ever sent to the war zone and even then, it's not as permanently as it seems Vessman’s position is. For whatever reason, he was sent out to die in the war. The 'why' behind it is what has Edward’s brain spinning for an answer.

Ed shakes his head, filing the question away for later. Right now, he has a meal to procure and files to read.

The camp is in a bustle when he leaves the large tent. Some men and women are running from the mess area with a hazardous amount of food on their trays, some are running after the retreating few, many more are sprinting for the meal tables. Ed simply stands in the middle of the rush, confused on what is causing this entire debacle. A shout -a familiar one at that- from the mess area has him running towards the food at a light jog. The voice is that of First Lieutenant Rohannes and information on the woman floods into Ed’s mind. In the original company, she was the officer of platoon Mercury, long-ranged with their sniper rifles and usually sent in for recon. She was 29 years old, a red-head with a fiery temper to match her hair. Usually complained about food. Weren’t her eyes a bright green?

‘ _Doesn’t matter,_ ’ Ed thinks. ‘ _Its an unnecessary detail._ ’ Its with that final thought that he breaches the mob of people around where the kitchen obviously is located and stumbles into the back of someone.

“Lieutenant Colonel Fullmetal, sir!” And it's Rohannes he runs into. When Ed stands upright, he looks up at the woman standing at attention, obviously wanting to continue whoever she was yelling at. A peek around her shows it's two young men with two full trays each. Its a sight that makes his eyes narrow.

“At ease, Lieutenant,” Ed murmurs. “Now, inform me why I heard you screeching all the way from the Brigadier-General’s tent, First Lieutenant Rohannes.”

“Sir! I was coming to recieve my last meal of the day. Standing in line, I noticed these two men harassing the cook into giving them more. Seeing as there were no other higher ranking officers other than myself, I intervened.” Ed’s eyes narrowed.

“And did you send someone to find a higher ranking officer? Perhaps their C.O.?”

“I sent someone to find you before confronting them, Fullmetal sir.”

Ed only nods her way. So far, Rohannes has nothing Edward needs to punish her for except for maybe a lap or two around the camp depending on her answers when he interrogates her at a later time. Turning his attention onto the two men has them standing upright, eyes above, hands unable to properly salute due to the trays occupying both hands. Stepping forward, he glares. “Names.”

“Warrant Officer Rays, sir!” the shorter and wider one answers. Ed decides he’s gonna call that one Tweedle.

“Seargent Wade, sir!” the taller and thinner -now forever Dee in Ed’s mind- replies.

“First of all, you will both give your trays to someone else, no more than a tray per person. Second of all, you are going to lead me to your C.O. Finally, you are going to tell me on the way why you thought it was a good idea to attempt this and then your C.O. Now move it! I don’t have the time to be dealing with impertinent men!” He turns on his heel to face Rohannes again. “First Lieutenant Rohannes, head to our company’s camp after this and await me there. I still have more questions to ask you.”

“Sir!!!”

* * *

 

With a groan, Ed finally returns to the Brigadier-General’s tent. Currently, Rohannes was doing five laps around the entire compound for doing more than her rank allowed her. Tweedle and Dee now had to clean and serve the kitchen for the next month with monitored rations. Any meal they ate was only to be grabbed under the surveillance of a higher ranking officer, one from Edward’s company. Let the idiots be grateful that they’re not under his command. As he sits in the one chair behind the desk, he thinks of all the creative punishments he could’ve used and enjoyed.

Without looking, he opens the first file and begins to read it.

_Name: Basque Grand_

_Codename: Iron-Blood Alchemist_

_Rank: Major_

_Alchemy: Weapon and Combat_

Ed reads through the rest of it, noting his personal abilities, his alchemy, what his gauntlets entail, everything. The blonde’s genius is able to make sense of it all like an adult reading a picture book when normally, understanding an alchemist’s specific style and alchemy would be as hard as reading a foreign tomb with only half the knowledge of what it all said. The man himself had some interesting records behind his accomplishments and some that were not so great. Then again, they all had to start somewhere.

The Grand’s mug shot shows tanned skin, kissed by the desert sun, dark eyes surrounded by stern stress lines, and a mustache that make Ed grin in amusement. If he can work the man in well, he would do amazing with a company based around long-ranged soldiers like Rohannes’ platoon. It will have to wait until he can compare him to the other three alchemists. With a sigh, he closes the manilla folder and puts it to the side, grabbing another to take its place.

_Name: Solf J. Kimblee_

_Codename: Crimson (Lotus) Alchemist_

_Rank: Major_

_Alchemy: Explosives_

Already after having read three lines, Ed knows he doesn’t like this man, bordering on distaste. To say he hates the other was close but hate was too strong of a word to associate with Kimblee - for now, at the very least. With pale skin, beady black eyes, and a overall sleazy look about the man, Edward is sure the Major is constantly going to be rubbing him the wrong way. The amber-eyed man is already reluctant and loathing to even have Kimblee under his command. Crimson’s track record shows nothing but a near-bordering psychoticness. Apathetic to the pain of others, a cruel man who nears unrelenting sadism, aloof towards any who show compassion, this man is not someone Edward wants to see here much less under his command. If it isn’t war, the Fullmetal alchemist would wonder why Kimblee is here but Edward knows the reason. The military needs cold-blooded killers for this conflict, this fight. They [the military] need their killing machines to be nothing more than that, killing machines. For that, Kimblee fits perfectly, void of most humanity that would make others at least hesitate if not largely regret taking a life later in their own years.

Edward’s orders were clear and he has no doubt that Vessman will try subtly testing Ed to prove the Lieutenant Colonel has followed the command issued. It is a grimace that settles firmly in place as he reads the rest of the file, taking on the mind of a tactician. The strengths and weaknesses are noted, ideas for placement already blooming into thought. A place on the frontline would be best but it would be risky and Edward isn’t about to even contemplate the idea of giving the man a group of soldiers to protect his pale ass. Something tells him that Kimblee would quicker use them as fodder than hold their lives in value.

He’s thankful when the file is closed and set to the side. It's the next name that makes this entire debacle worth the effort.

Mustang.

Its an innocuous name but it is the man behind it that changes it all.

_Name: Roy Mustang_

_Codename: Flame Alchemist_

_Rank: Major_

_Alchemy: Fire_

A man of obvious Xingese decent looks back at him from the small photo, determination and strength staring back from the narrow darkened black eyes set into pale skin. The look is one of a carefully constructed veneer, meant to fool those around him. The only reason Ed knows is because a) he used to see it all the time when he was in central, b) he uses it often when needed, and c) Roy hasn’t perfect it yet. There are imperfections seen in the near-blasé facade though his record shows that he doesn’t have too much to hide that is unpleasant. Unless it's about who his guardian was before joining but if it's just that, Edward can't give a shit less. The guy does decent work and with the references, relations, and contacts he has, itit not surprising he was accepted into the program. His test results are nothing to scoff at either, the practical specifically. A fine-tuned control of fire alchemy, something only the late Berthold Hawkeye had shown before taking on young Roy beneath his wings.

Getting back on track and reading the rest, Edward leans back in the chair, one leg crossed over the other with his right metal elbow resting on the top knee, his hand cradling his cheek while the other holds open the file. The paper is a soft shade of glowing orange from the muted light of the lantern hanging just behind Edward to his right. The light plays with his skin and ignites the amber of his eyes to a molten pool of liquid gold. Outside the tent, the camp is full of hushed chatters and he never hears less than two pairs of feet walking past. Soon though, a sullen hush fills the ramshackled compound as everyone begins to head for bed. As soon as Edward finishes the file, he follows suit in blowing out the lantern and placing the manilla folders in a neat pile on the desk. He knows everything needed and wasting anymore time here is senseless.

When he raises one of the flaps, a bone-deep chills sweeps through his body and drains the surface warmth. His metal leg and arm don’t help the matter at all, feeling akin to ice against his skin. He weighs his options, deciding that while sharing a tent with Armstrong is a hassle as the man likes to wake before all the others, it is worth not having frostbite trying to cling to the skin his ports are surrounded by. The full uniform can be warm but in a desert night, it is nothing. The same goes for the battered white cloak he still has on.

A sudden weight barrels into Edward and it immediately has the young man alert, quickly jumping back up and into a fighting position. He throws his fist only to stop short as he realizes it is only another soldier, one of the other majors here within the Amestrian grounds based on the rank insignia. Black hair takes a few of those options of the options away and the length of said hair takes away a couple more. It’s the eyes that narrow it down to one person. The soldier is none other than Roy Mustang, charmer of ladies and master of fire. The latest rumor says he’s been taking more than just women to his bed and the only reason Ed knows this is because Rohannes had a one night stand with the man and Edward was forced to hear about a lot of it while eating with them all one night a few weeks ago.

“Sorry!” comes the quick reply and the dark voice surprises Edward. He wasn’t expecting something as...smooth. As Roy goes to stand, Edward is quick to right his position, pulling back his halted punch into his side with haste. When dark penetrating eyes meet his, the first thought through Ed’s head is,

‘ _The picture doesn’t really do that face justice_.’ Realizing the young Major is waiting for a response, Edward immediately begins to talk though it takes a couple tries to get it right.

“It’s alright! Really! I’m perfectly fine. See?” The short blonde smiles and begins to prove his statement by moving his arm. Roy doesn’t need to know its his metal limb. “Apology accepted and all that.”

The man frowns, one part concerned and another confused. Edward knows that look; its one a recognition. One of someone connecting the dots which will eventually lead them to the right conclusion. “If you’re sure,” Roy slowly -hesitantly?- responds. His dark eyes rove over Edward’s 4’11” stature and it only serves to make the younger man’s eyebrow twitch. “Do I...know you?”

“Hopefully not. Sorry to cut this short but it is freezing and-”

“Hurry up, Roy!” Another male voice calls from somewhere and both Ed and Roy look in the direction of it.

“-And we both want to get somewhere warm. Understood.” Roy quickly moves on after his words only to stop a couple paces in and twist on his feet to face Edward. “Name’s Roy.”

Hands on his hips, Edward chuckles. “Nice to meet ya Roy.”

The young blonde quickly turns and begins to run, wanting to get somewhere warm. He hears Roy’s aborted shout of question -‘What about your name’- behind him but he doesn’t stop, only waves behind his shoulder before knowing he’s run out of sight. A few more meters and he slows down, putting his hands in the pockets of his pants. For once, he’s grateful for the cloak as Edward wasn’t exactly ready to meet them all. Maybe by the time they meet up again, Roy will have figured it out. Hopefully not.

Edward looks up towards the sky and forces himself to stop and admire it. The night flourishes in the arid desert with its bright velvet sapphire hues and sable cobalt tones. Hanging from the sky like tiny drops of sun-lit water shine hundred upon hundreds of stars. This far away from any large source of light, there isn’t a single one hiding away from the human eyes of man. Even in Resembool, they were too close to see the firmament in its entirety. Across the large expanse, many stars clustered into a single pattern, falling across the moon’s heavens like a celestial river. With almost every fire extinguished, every person asleep, and every silent moment, the view is one that sent gooseflesh trailing along Ed’s human arm and leg in pure awe, eyes wide. It makes him feel small and humble, realizing (not for the first time) that there is so much more than all of this to the cosmos. That this work of art before him, this masterpiece is of nature’s doing, perfected after eons and always continuing to perfect itself further. It's a testament to the wonders of Earth.

A soft greeting of a friendly and familiar voice breaks Edward out of his reverie, his gentle giant of a friend standing up from the dying embers of the fire. The small blonde can’t help the mild fond smile that spreads his lips, jogging to stand beside Alex.

“Private Fox was sad to see you missing from the meal but he sends his understanding and forgiveness,” is the first thing Alex says. Edward groans, stopping and slapping his flesh hand against his forehead before letting his head fall back.

“That’s right! I invited him to dinner with all of us! Man, I really messed that one up,” the young alchemist bemoans, careful in being quiet lest he wake the others. Alex lets a deep chuckle rumble through the air.

“No worries, young Elric. I enlightened the Private on why you could not attend nor notify him within a polite amount of time. Regardless, the others and I made sure to he felt welcomed.”

Edward sends a tender look of apology Alex’s way, rubbing the back of his neck with a rueful smile. “Thanks, big guy.”

He’s rewarded with a blinding smile from Majoy Armstrong.

“I assume you wish to share a tent again?”

“You got it, Alex.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has no specific update schedule outside of one rule I'm setting for myself. When I post a chapter, the next one must at least already be done and finished if I'm not started on the next after that. So yes, the third chapter is done and ready but it won't be posted until I have the fourth done as well. 
> 
> Word Count (WC): 5397  
> Next Chapter Current WC: 5927
> 
> Funny story about chapter three. Had I not checked the word count, it probably would've been near 10,000. Whoops.
> 
> As always, constructive criticism is highly encouraged and welcomed!!! Just- please don't tell me my story is shit. I'm trying.
> 
> NOTE: I have no experience in the military whatsoever so during all this, I am trying to do some research. That being said, if you have anything to contribute whether from your own research or experiences, I'd love to hear them!!! The more accurate I can make this, the better. Please do understand that with it, some things likely will not be able to be called 'realistic' in real military times due to plot progression and all that.
> 
> Thank you!  
> -Dehmer


	3. (New Dawn)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakfast, Coincidences, and a Mercurial Sun.

Edward was right. He was correct in the assumption that waking up with Armstrong would be hell for the simple fact of waking before the sun even began to glimmer on the horizon. Even now as he wraps himself further into his cocoon of blankets, Ed knows he won’t be able to peacefully send himself back to sleep without a concussion involved. Inside the spacious tent all soldiers ranked Major and above are allotted, Alex refuses to quit his humming. Its not horrible. In fact, if Ed were in a better mood he would call it pleasant, soft on the ears even. But right now, at the very crucial moment, it is at- no, just before the ass crack of dawn will begin to show itself and Ed wants only for a) his source of warmth to come back because the blankets are not cutting it and b) for Alex to for once understand that waking up after dawn is not a horrible thing.

As Edward wonders if making a literal human cocoon out of blankets is possible, they are all ripped away and the young alchemist is left shivering and rubbing his arms for warmth, teeth chattering. He quickly sits up, tired and deadly eyes trained on the pleased Major.

“Mr. Elric!” Alex merrily calls though softly in regards to those still sleeping and not needed to be awoken yet. “Rise and shine, sir! The sun is about to rise and we should be up with it!”

Ed’s eyes narrow even further, his annoyance slowly being doused by his tiredness at the early hour and the fondness for his first and only true friend in this war. With a sigh, he lets his head fall, posture relaxing with the action. He stands with a small sound, easily stretching in the tent while most other soldiers would be awkwardly bent along the spine inside. It doesn’t pass Ed how his height is a blessing in this situation once more. At least he won’t have to wait to stretch outside in the frigid air.

“Alright, alright,” Edward replies, groaning (moaning?) at the admirable stretch he feels in his muscles. From the corner of his eyes with both arms above in a soft warm-up, he asks, “I’m guessing you want to watch the sunrise again?”

“I wasn’t going to ask you this time but you are more than welcome to join me, Edward,” the large man rumbles with a bright smile, thankfully no teeth showing. Edward doesn’t need his retinas burned with the whiteness of those chompers.

Edward waves him off. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ll be out there as soon as I get dressed in a casual uniform.” To this, Alex nods and heads outside the tent, presumably to start a fire and with it, a sweet treat for many. While the cooks would provide breakfast, Armstrong was the one in the habit of making something nice for all of the men and women serving. As Alex once told Edward, ‘While war is bitter, a sweet morning will ease the many wounded.’

As Edward had said, he starts getting ready for the day which has yet to rise. He doesn’t bother with the whole uniform. Instead, he goes for a set of thin black pants, a baggy white tanktop, and a Amestrian-blue sweatshirt, his white gloves in place as always. Later, he can tie it around his waist for when it gets too warm. He knows that at any moment, another conflict can break out but a gut feeling has him believing such a thing won’t happen until later. When Alex had filled him in last night before they went to bed, he was also told of any important information the Major, Captain, and four First Lieutenants were able to gather.

The most important was the compound/camp was moved further back from the fighting as Ishvalans had taken to coming in at the dark of night and attacking those on the outskirts of the entire camp. While the actual battle site was still close, it was far enough that it would be deemed not worth the effort of the Ishvalans to traverse the area and attack. Not only that, but three squads were always posted out around the compound’s borders facing the Ishvalan camp, with another patrolling the other half of the circumference. These squads traded between day, evening, and night shifts, no squad doing border security more than once every 24 hours. So far, none have been killed or have seen any intruders in the week since the camp moved.

Second important was the fact of reassignments. Last night while Edward had been reading files, the men of Edward’s, now Alex’s company noticed tents moving around them. To their north side was Kimblee’s company. On their south side now sat Grand’s company. Their east side was now occupied by Mustang’s company. The company Edward came in with was situated on the western end of the entire camp, them having arrived on that end from Malavi and immediately making camp there. Of all this, Edward still isn’t sure what to make of it but it certainly doesn’t leave him feeling safe and protected. If anything, it makes him feel boxed in. His only relief is their west side facing open area, aka, the border.

The final tidbit of information was surprising to Edward at first but soon became a logical choice for the other man to take. Earlier that evening, just before Edward had returned to the camp, Major Basque Grand had come to introduce himself to his new Commanding Officer. The message he had left was a simple one. ‘I would like to meet with Lieutenant Colonel Elric before we are all sent to the battlefield if he would allow it.’ Ed could only guess his reasonings for such a forward request.

Finally, Edward finishes with his morning motions and quietly walks outside the tent, meeting Alex over by the small fire the Major has started. In a pan above the flames cooks the beginnings of some simple potato pancakes. It will be a dry snack unless someone volunteers to get Ketchup (though Ed always grabs a good couple bowls of it from the kitchens before complaints start rising) but it will be a filling one. The military grade food is nothing like a good handmade meal whereas Armstrong’s morning snacks always are. The man’s cuisine never fails to force a human’s hunger out the metaphorical window. Just the sight of the three golden pancakes on a plate set beside Alex has Edward lazily smiling as he sits down next to his friend. Yawning loudly, Edward relaxes back with his gloved hands splayed behind him on the ground and propping him up. He tilts his head back and looks up at the slowly brightening sky, awaiting the pastel colors the dawn always paints itself in.

“Are you sure you will be alright in that outfit?” Edward’s companion worryingly murmurs. Ed’s head falls to the side and he faces Alex, the smile still in place.

“Pretty sure I won’t have to worry about it until later this afternoon.” At that, one of Alex’s eyebrows raises in a challenging wonderance.

“How so?”

“Just another gut instinct.”

“Hmph. I hope this time you are right,” he mutters humorously, his thin lips twitching into a grin.

“Hey!” Edward sits upright, eyes narrowed, lips thinned. “My gut is right a majority of the time!”

Armstrong turns amused eyes to Edward and says, “And there are times it isn’t, like the Dog Incident in East City.”

Ed’s cheek light up in embarrassment, eyes widening, and says with a whispered yell, “Y-You agreed we wouldn’t bring that up again!”

Armstrong chuckles and amicably replies, “On the condition it was only once a year. Your birthday recently passed marking it as being a new year since it.”

“I was hoping you would forget that part,” Edward mutters in a sulky tone, crossing his arms and looking the other way. After a couple moments, his lips split into a grin and he eyes Alex from the corner of his eyes. “In hindsight, that was not only amazing how we managed that but also hilarious. How did we even survive that hellish dog?”

Alex seems to mull it over, looking up at the sky and holding his chin between a pointer finger and his thumb. He shrugs soon after, hands in the air, eyes closed. “Who knows.” It causes both of them to chuckle. After that, the air remains lighthearted as the two relax, pancake after pancake being finished and with the rise of the dawn come the few sleepy soldiers who always wake early just for Alex’s breakfast snack food. The pale neon orange light of the sun falls over them all in a complimenting way, highlighting their complacent and peaceful eyes and faces. For now, its morning and a common camaraderie brings them together for a serene morning, probably one of the last few they’ll have. The truth of this soon being a distant dream in the coming days causes Ed’s good mood to slowly fall. His eyebrows furrow and his grin falls in lament of the strife that is to come. He leans towards Alex.

“I’ll be back in twenty minutes max,” he whispers to the other. “Make sure I get two or three pancakes?”

“Always, Edward,” Alex replies without looking. With a nod, Edward stands up, bending backwards at the back to stretch, arms overhead. He doesn’t say another word as he begins a moderate jog to the kitchens. He passes plenty of people either just waking up, in the stages of getting ready for the day, or already milling about in fulfilling their morning tasks or rituals. He waves to them all, long hair loose behind him. A lot of people mistake him for a female but Edward has long since gotten used to it, not taking too much offense to it and keeping on track. He doesn’t correct them either. As Fullmetal Alchemist, he always gets too much attention, especially after word of Malavi was released to the majority of Amestris’ soldiers. They either stare at him in reverence and awe or complete and utter terror. Both options have the same results; people keeping away from him and whispering. He’d rather people mistake him for some female soldier than as the Fullmetal Alchemist.

As he’s turning a corner around one of the tents, he runs into someone and the instance brings the coincidence of last night to mind. He falls back with a soft sound and landing on his rear. His hands prop him up again the second time that day and he looks at the other mirroring him except on their hands on knees. Its obvious Edward ran into them from behind. In front of that person is a man with short black hair, glasses, and a mild black scruff. The man abruptly laughs a full-bellied guffaw, leaning back with the sound. The person Ed ran into growls and quickly stands up.

“Shut up, Hughes,” they say and Edward immediately recognizes the voice belonging to Roy Mustang. Edward has half a mind to speak up about the ‘odd’ coincidence of running into them again but finds no recognition in the Major’s eyes when he turns around and quickly kneels to help Edward up. He stays silent and allows Roy to aid him in standing. “My apologies, miss.”

“Oh no! The blame is all mine!” Edward is quick to correct. He pats his rear and the back of his legs clear of sand then puts his hands in his pockets and looks back up into Roy’s now surprised eyes. Ed gives a large grin, softly chuckling. “Yeup!”

“I-I didn’t even say anything,” Roy says, an eyebrow raised. Ed was right about that flawed poker face.

“Your face said it all.”

The man from before pushes Roy to the side and quickly comes in close to Edward with narrow inquisitive eyes. He looks Ed up and down in obvious suspicion though Ed gets a feeling its not in concern to himself. Suddenly, the man’s face lights up and his jaw drops just a bit. “Its you!”

“What,” is all Ed says in a bland voice.

“You! The one Roy said he ran into last night! Boy, he’s right about you being-” A hand is slapped over the man’s voice, Roy quickly closing in with a scowl.

“Really, Hughes?” Roy growls. Edward decides not to question it at all seeing as it obviously flusters Roy. The Flame Alchemist sighs and lets his hand fall, revealing a madly grinning Hughes. “I apologize, sir.”

“Again, no need to apologize,” Ed replies in a bored tone. Didn’t he already say something to that parallel. He crosses his arms, wondering where this is going.

‘ _This better not turn into an awkward silence. If that’s the case, I’m leaving these two to their morning and getting on with mine. I still have that meeting to arrange with Grand and the rest of the reassignments to not only plan but clear through Vessman._ ’

Luckily, Edward is saved from such an event.

“So I never got your name last night,” Roy says genially.

“I’m a little curious too, seeing as you can’t be any older than 17,” Hughes adds. Roy softly growls at Hughes but Edward doesn’t catch it.

Scratch that, Edward is still going to leave them to their...whatever. His words start off slow but quickly turn into a rushed out jumble of words. “You….will find that out another time. Gotta go, bye, see ya!”

Edward quickly retreats, dodging around them and making his way towards the mess hall in a sprint but taking a couple detours as Roy and Hughes give chase for a bit. Its easy to lose them as Ed’s stature makes it easier for him to weave between tents than it is for Roy and Hughes. Relaxing and grinning, Edward heads straight for the ‘kitchens’ to finally grab those two bowls of ketchup. It only takes the few words Ed needs to quietly give his name and rank in order to acquire his intended condiment from the cooks before Edward is leisurely walking back to where his camp is. No one bothers him on the way and he doesn’t see hide nor hair of the Major and his friend. His rest of the morning is set about enjoying the food Alex has made and watching and listening to his subordinates with a pleased expression.

Above it all, the sky blazes a bright red-orange.

* * *

 

Five minutes after losing the blonde, Roy calls it quits and follows behind his best friend with a groan.

“Come on now Roy, we’ve made Riza wait long enough,” Hughes says in high spirits. Why he’s always so good in the mornings, Roy will never know nor ever understand how he does it while they’re here. “If we don’t hurry, she may well shoot us.”

Another groan leaves the Major, causing the Captain to bellow out another set of laughs. Its how Riza spots them as they enter the mess area. From his peripheral vision, he spots the ends of long golden hair retreating behind one of the surrounding tents and for a moment, Roy is attempted to chase after whoever it was in hopes it would be the blonde he was thinking of. Ever since last night’s unusual encounter, curiosity has plagued Roy. He’s sure he’s at least heard of the other but any name or title keeps escaping him. Worst yet, Hughes said he already knew who it was but refused to tell Roy on the principle that Roy should know very well who he was. The memory of Hughes holding it over his head that night around the fire causes Roy to let his forehead gently hit the table after seating himself. Riza gives a small chuckle and Hughes sniggers. To make matters worse, Hughes had told Riza and no way was Roy going to try and get the information from her. He knew she would kick his ass and leave him hogtied in front of everyone. Not an experience he wishes to try out. Getting back on track.

What he did know:

  1. The young man has blonde hair and golden eyes
  2. As Hughes said, he couldn’t be older than 17, barely enough time to enlist and have made it here after training and that’s assuming the man (boy?) is 17.
  3. He's a soldier here. Roy had seen the blue uniform underneath the white cloak last night.
  4. His hair is long.
  5. Apparently, they can pass as a woman upon first glance.
  6. Both times, he had been wearing white gloves and their arms had been covered.



Besides all that, Roy was clueless. The rank insignia had been hidden last night by the white cloak and today they weren’t wearing their uniform. The mystery was slowly becoming one that Roy wants figured out soon. He hates not knowing with a burning passion.

Today’s food was as bland as yesterday’s and the day’s before that one. For once, he wished for something different despite knowing it would never become true. Like he would be able to get anything else from the kitchen. His rank wouldn’t allow that. So he ate the usual scrambled eggs made from dried eggs. He remembers sometimes eating this with his parents before they died. Its a common Xingese process, one he can recall how to do very well. Didn’t matter as the fond memories didn’t take out the odd flavor to them that fresh eggs didn’t have. Alongside that is a dry biscuit and a glass of rehydrated powdered milk. They aren’t as filling as anything fresh would be but this was the most important war front. As such, he knew today would be one filled with strenuous jobs as Amestris has yet to declare an attack, the same being said for Ishval.

Ishval was the last Ishvalan city and the major one. Information leads belief to Logue Lowe -the Ishvalan’s Supreme Cleric and leader of the enemy side- hiding in the major city. If he could be apprehended, perhaps this war would end. If killed...hopefully the Ishvalans would surrender but Roy knew that possibility was unlikely. The Ishvalans are a prideful people who hold contempt for Amestris’ Alchemy. If Logue was killed, it would only incense the people further. If it was an Alchemist who landed the final blow, there would be no telling what the Ishvalans as a whole would do. It could very well come down to a final massacre, men so enraged that they would throw away their lives in order to try and fell a heretic to their entire culture, for their entire culture. The thought turned the food in his mouth to ash and Roy regretfully swallowed the last bite he would take of the meal. At least he can say he ate half of it.

He pushes away his plate on the table and Hughes makes a delighted sound, beginning to dive into that food after having finished his own a few moments ago. The sight gives Roy a reason to smile, letting the heated memories fall away back into the deep of his mind. He doesn’t need to be thinking of them right now. Downtime is time to forget the battlefield and try to feel a bit of normalcy in an otherwise devastated time for them all. Watching his two friends make smalltalk back and forth cements that idea and Roy gives a sigh, resting his head on folded arms atop the table, a goofy smile in place. Hughes turns his head the slightest bit to curiously peek at the more ambitious of the two men.

“What’s got you so happy?” Hughes quietly inquires. It makes Roy chuckle, the child-like wondering he hears from his ‘mature’ friend.

“Nothing,” he serenely replies. “Just trying to stay positive.” He makes the mistake of looking Riza’s way because within moments, she has the perfect response as if she read his mind.

“We’ll get through this, sir.” Its all she states and all she has to say to make Roy’s shoulder relax that last bit and genuinely smile.

“Yeah… We will.”

The rest of day is spent in a whirlwind of activity. The three inevitably split ways and Roy ends up as a sparring partner in the middle of his daily exercising. He gets plenty on the field but it never hurts to keep up while between each fight. It lasts a good portion of the day, being sparring partners for any who needs one. It does die down in the end a little before lunch is supposed to be served and Roy is in the showers when he sees Hughes again though in an irritated fashion.

“Why did you just hit my ass with a towel like a whip!?!” Roy yells as soon as he realizes who it is. “God dammit, Hughes!!!! That actually hurt…”

“I did it because you left yourself wide open, my friend!” Hughes is laughing loudly in the stall next to Roy, having retreated there as soon as Roy saw his face with rage in his eyes.

“Wide open- how does that have anything to do with it,” Roy grumbles. He quickly gets back to washing his body off. The water certainly isn’t the best and showers are limited to once every three weeks due to the biome this war is set in. Roy wanted to enjoy this as much as possible in the limited time warranted to him.

“Are you telling me this is the first time you’ve been towel whipped here!?” Hughes exclaims.

“I didn’t believe it to be that important,” Roy sardonically replies.

“Look I’ll explain to you later; I know you don’t have much time left in the shower. Fire before bed. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Hughes never does get to explain it to Roy that evening.

* * *

 

_‘Combat-Orientated.’_

The words stare back up towards Edward’s eyes like a taunt as he rereads Major Basque Grand’s military file. After breakfast and the majority of his duties as Lieutenant Colonel were completed that day, he had sought out Vessman to answer a few of his questions. With him, he was given a full (or as full as Vessman was allowed to say) briefing about the current and past statuses of this ‘war’, what strategies the men and women were familiar with, emergency plans, etc.,. All he had to do was listen and ask a question here and there to make it seem like he actually gave a damn. Vessman had given him a look -and Edward will forever swear it was one of humorous understanding- but hadn’t said a thing because Edward’s equals were summoned for it.

‘Introductions are in order,’ Vessman had given as his excuse. Thinking of it now has Edward scoffing.

 _‘Introductions,’_ Edward sarcastically thinks. _‘Because no one there looked either scared, in awe, and foul when the title Fullmetal was introduced. None at all. Hell, the youngest ranked officer outside of me looked as if he would piss his pants.’_ He chuckles though it’s cut short at the sound of knocking against one of the poles at the entrance holding up the entire damned tent. While it’s nice being able to have privacy, he feels it’s a little over the top.

“Permission to enter, Lieutenant Colonel Elric, sir,” comes a calm and gravelly male voice from behind the flaps of the tent’s ‘door’. He doesn’t recognize the person it belongs to and Edward’s brows gently furrow in curiosity but morbid caution.

“Enter,” he hesitantly responds. From the flaps enters none other than Basque Grand himself. Edward tenses. Before all... _this_ happened, Edward would’ve chalked it up to coincidence (‘ _a remarkable concurrence of events or circumstances without apparent causal connection,’ his mind supplies_ ) but Edward’s wariness has made him circumspect. Coincidences don’t happen for Edward. Not anymore.

“Lieutenant Colonel Elric, I am Major Grand,” Basque introduces himself with a proper and rigid salute. He looks just above Edward’s head, the perfect show of military obedience and Edward isn’t buying it for a second. Something is wrong. What’s throwing Edward is the subject of that ‘something’. “If I may, sir, I have some questions I believe you may have the answers to.”

Edward’s eyes narrow and he brings his hands up together, fingertips the only parts touching and hiding the lower part of his face. “Continue, Major. And drop the salute.”

“Sir,” is the only thing Basque says at first, hand loosely falling to his side. He seems to weigh his own words before speaking, dark eyes looking right at him. “I have a few questions so I ask for your pardon if this takes some time or if I overstep my boundaries as your subordinate.”

 _‘You may as well have just said you were going to do that last one anyways,’_ Edward thinks in a bored manner.

“My first question, Lieutenant Colonel Elric is this. What do you plan on doing with my Company in the upcoming battles. I can see you were reading my file before I came in.”

Edward let’s the man sit in silence as he ponders the Major’s words. He twists them this way and that, construing them for any hidden agenda or hint he can find. He doesn’t see anything. It might mean Grand’s starting off small which will lead to him asking the heavier questions later on. Edward has nearly no doubts that there is much more to this unannounced visit.

“Let me first ask you something before I answer, Major,” Edward finally answers, relaxing back in the stiff chair he was given with the minimalist desk. He threads his hands together and rests them over his stomach. “Why are you asking me this question.”

At this, Grand looks almost….unsettled. His eyes widen for the smallest of seconds, body drawing itself up before going back to the docile pretense of an acquiescent soldier. “There are men and women under my command that I care about, sir. With all due respect, I’d like to see them treated fairly.”

“And what of the other soldiers under my own command, those who are your comrades but not your own men and women,” Edward counters in a level tone.

“If they were to be the sacrificial lamb, I would implore you to try find another course of action. If they were to fall in these battles, I would lament their injuries or their deaths. Yet although they are my comrades, I have my own soldiers to worry about first and foremost, sir.”

Edward considers him for a moment, searching him for any hint to deception. He finds none. In fact, he finds nothing and it is because of that he’s not satisfied with it all. Edward can’t make a proper move in this small game between them without knowing more. The blonde knows better than to underestimate anything in the military or human beings in general. It may seem inconsequential to an outsider but he knows it could really be the beginning to something much larger no matter if it is inherently ‘good’ or ‘bad’. For now, neutral ground will have to do.

“I have plans on making your company more of a long-ranged one,” he admits. “I was reading through your file, specifically your alchemy and what you personally can do with it. It gave me some ideas. Tell me, what people do you have under you who are exceptional with a gun, sniper or not.”

“We do have a sniper rifle unit, as do the Companies of Mustang, Kimblee, and Armstrong. My own is comprised of two squads belonging to a platoon with the third squad being used to help guard the snipers-”

“Isn’t it usually one guard to one sniper,” Edward interrupts.

“Usually but it recently changed,” Basque concedes, a hint of sorrow showing at the admission. “Vessman had relayed the amendment to us moments after he received it himself.”

“Who altered it.” Edward makes no play to hide the way this angers him. His eyes are hard and cold as they bore into Basque, his lips a thin line. His anger is contained but in doing so is dense and sharpened like a steel claymore. Forcing two guards to one sniper reduces how much they are able to strategize. Limits their available forces.

“Führer Bradley,” the large man says, voice a touch softer than before as if the name itself is either a plague or a curse in waiting. Edward silently swears in the solitude of his mind, imprecating the bastard even further.

“I see. If we’re going to be successful in any upcoming skirmish that is on our own terms, we’ll be needing to do things a bit differently. I want all three of your platoons to consist of one sniper squad, one guard squad, and one combat engineer squad.”

“Yes sir though, may I ask why they are to be this way?”

“As much as I hate this war, I hate needless death more,” Edward angrily mutters. He crosses the ankle of his right leg on the knee of the left, putting his left elbow on the arm of the chair so his head can rest on that hand. He looks to the map on the side of his desk with disdain. “This area is unfamiliar to most of the soldiers here and they definitely have no idea how best to use their surroundings to their advantages. Snipers usually do. The Combat Engineers -while falling in with those unfamiliar and without a clue- know what to look for when it comes to explosives no matter the terrain. I’ve been told that the Ishvalans have recently acquired some kind of explosive, ones dangerous to those even close by.” He glances up at Basque before closely studying the map. “I know there have already been deaths simply due to shrapnel.

“The reason I grouped those three roles together is simple. The Sniper knows best how to use the advantages of their terrain. The Combat Engineer knows best how to spot these bombs and keep them all safe by either disabling the bombs or going around them properly. The guard will be able to keep those two safe simply by knowing how to spot the oncoming threats. The Engineers will disable the bombs in this case and once the Sniper makes a nest, will go to disable more in as safe a way as possible. They will not be in active fighting. Once the have any bombs within a certain radius deactivated, they will revert to guards until further notice.”

In Edward’s mind as he looks at the smaller version of the map he saw in the meeting with Vessman, he is already calculating the best routes for these groups to go. Which areas for them to avoid at all costs. Escape routes. Etc.

“I only have one squad of Combat Engineers, sir,” Basque lowly says, more in the way of a gentle reminder with his tone than anything else.

“As do Mustang’s and Kimblee’s. The only Company under myself that doesn’t have one is Armtrong’s. Mustang’s and Kimblee’s Combat Engineer Squads will be transferred to you. From Armstong’s Company, you will have their Sniper Squad along with First Lieutenant Rohannes as she was once a Combat Engineer before moving on to being a Sniper. Your remaining platoon’s worth of soldier’s will be divided between the other three Companies under my command as you see fit.”

“Yes sir.”

Edward goes over it in his head again, debating the choices made just as he had half an hour ago when the idea first came. He still stands with his decisions. “I know these decisions may seem very hasty Major but trust me enough to believe I have the best interests of everyone’s safety in mind. When I had presented my ideas before Vessman earlier, I was given the okay to do as I deem necessary not to win this fight, but to help the faithful men and women here make it home alive and whole after all this.”

“I believe you, sir.”

Edward huffs a humorous laugh. “I’ll tell you what I told all the people who work under me after the first few times they constantly used ‘sir’ with me. Drop it. I may be your superior officer but I am not superior to you just because of that fact. When you go from salute to at ease, the ‘sir’ goes with the salute and stays with it. Either call me Elric or nothing at all. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Elric.”

“Now I believe you had more questions to ask?” Basque Grand nods in response and comes forward, digging something out of the inside of his jacket. He places a folded paper on the desk before stepping back to where he was previously. When Edward takes a look at the folded note, he sees the marking covering it and recognizes it immediately. Mercury with a dot in the middle of it’s circle. His sun-golden gaze whips back to Basque’s eyes, pinning the man with a sharp gaze.

“I had brought this forth to Major Armstrong and was henceforth what could be very well be called interrogated over the matter for a good portion of the afternoon. After he was finished, he sent me to you with that paper and three orders on your behalf. To deliver it to you, tell you ‘Adam has not yet eaten the forbidden fruit of Eden’, and then await further orders from you.”

Edward looks down from Basque to the note. He knows simply from watching and listening to Grand that the man is holding his own words in check. He doesn’t dare look at it yet knowing it holds something of great importance to have both symbols on it. Even if Armstrong believes Grand to be untouched by those cretins of Father, Edward wants to be sure for himself before adding the Major into the ranks of those he trusts.

“And where did you acquire it from,” Edward lowly intones. He looks back up at Grand, body tense despite being in a relaxed position.

“A soldier named Artelm passed it on to me saying I was to bring it to Armstrong.”

“Did you look at it at all.”

“No though Major Armstrong opened the note when I brought it forth to him.”

‘ _And yet he sent you here with it anyways,_ ’ Edward thinks, looking back to the seemingly harmless piece of paper with narrowed and confused eyes. ‘ _Why._ ’

After a moment, Edward grabs the paper and opens it to read the note inside.

**‘The trees have barred their bottled-straw black fruits and the Harvesters have traded in the profits for the Feast. Beware the Apples for the Fae but welcome their Scout and Fae of Blood for they have not eaten the forbidden fruits of Eden. -Dereg’**

Edward slowly places the note down, disbelief shouting about inside his head. He wants to refute the statements- the information held within the coded message. He wants to deny its existence just like he always wants to deny that this is happening to him, that this isn’t his reality everytime he wakes from another nightmare. During those moments of weakness, he’s just sixteen years old again and not the adult he has to otherwise be. The same is now but with a will as strong as his alchemy and his automail, he’s regaining the strength he needs to keep going and to begin planning on how to work with this. He needs to face reality.

Grand is to be trusted, Martel is here to protect Edward’s ass, and the military is going to start sending soldiers with Marcoh’s flawed and defective Philosopher Stones.

Soon.

Outside the tent, a gunshot sounds off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WC: 5966  
> Next Chapter Current WC: 5371
> 
> Remember how I said this would've been near 10,000? Its because I nearly got caught up in the chapter and wanted to keep typing. Well, thanks to that I finished chapter four earlier than expected which in turn gave you all an update earlier than expected. Haha.
> 
> So tell me, can you guess what the coded message said? Further more, what the symbol is and/or means?
> 
> Sneak Peak for Chapter 4!: “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” Truth gleefully hums.
> 
> Its not a pretty chapter towards the end.
> 
> Thank you!  
> -Dehmer


	4. (Rowe)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A child stumbles into their grasps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOOK AT THE NEW TAGS BEFORE CONTINUING. Just a warning.

As soon as Edward exits the tent, Martel is right by his side only a couple steps behind with Grand flanking the other. Having the brain he does, Edward is able to remember the general direction the blast came from and wastes no time in running after it. They run through the camp towards the western horizon and through Edward’s original company’s part of the compound. Thinking quickly, Edward realizes that its the closest edge of the camp from where his office tent is now stationed. Its also the westernmost side of the entire camp, where the newest additions were placed. If its an Ishvalan attack, it is the smartest move on their part by attempting to catch the new people off guard. Their fallacy though is either forgetting or not knowing these newest additions came from another front of the war and already wary of the newer grounds. That is only if it is indeed an Ishvalan attack.

By the time Edward is halfway there, he’s already running into people frantically moving and preparing themselves. He sees someone waving him down from up ahead and slows down. The Private seems a little out of breath but nothing to worry about. Edward vaguely recognizes him and relaxes a bit knowing the Private wouldn’t feel it hard to listen to Edward as is rank demanded.

“Sir! Major Armstrong sent me ahead to inform you of the incident!” the young man yells, saluting Edward while keeping up. He lets his hand fall and continues to speak. “Some men from the perimeter patrol spotted a group of Ishvalans attempting to close into the camp. A sniper from Mercury platoon was with, took aim, and fired. The Ishvalan is alive, apprehended and detained by Major Armstrong. The Major is now awaiting direction involving the Ishvalan.”

“Thank you Private,” Edward says honestly. “You may return to your duties now.” The man nods and turns right around, heading back the way Edward, Grand, and Martel came from. “Grand, go ready a holding area for the man, have Medics on stand-by right outside the tent and chose three soldiers you trust from your own company to guard the area, two on the entrance, one on the back side.”

“Sir!” Grand quickly departs, presumably going to his own group of people to pick three people. After he’s sure the large man is far enough away, Edward lowly mutters to Martel without looking over his shoulder.

“We are going to talk later. Until then, you are to stay by my side.” He only receives an answering hum.

Soon enough, he’s walking into view of the group of six soldiers around Armstrong, guns pointed towards the center of their circle. As soon as Alex sees Edward, he’s waving down the young Lieutenant Colonel. Edward quickly jogs up to the tall man and Alex is already explaining without the shorter blonde having to say a single word.

“The young man was immobilized by First Lieutenant Rohannes, shot in the knee. I further detained him by cuffing his wrists behind his back. He has already been checked for any and all possible weapons on his person by Warrant Officer Rays then again by myself. The patrol that saw the Ishvalan group is the one currently keeping him at gunpoint.”

“Thank you, Major Armstrong,” Edward replies. Turning to face the men and women pointing their guns at the Ishvalan, he firmly commands, “All but First Lieutenant Rohannes, stand down. Corporal Artelm, check the wound. You have more medical experience than I do. Tell me if he needs immediate attention to stay alive or not.”

Martel walks by and meets his eyes for a second before following through with his command, kneeling down before the Ishvalan boy after the five other soldiers pointed their weapons down and away from the captive. The boy himself ignores her, meeting only Edward’s eyes. The red clash with gold, one hateful and furious, one stern and cold. The only time he looks away is when he winces from Martel’s prodding of his knee.

“He’s in no danger of dying within twenty-four hours, sir, but an infection can easily set in within the next six if not sooner. I suggest a cleaning before the next hour passes.” Martel stands up and walks back until she’s standing to the side and just behind Edward. “Sir. Your orders?”

For a few minutes, Edward doesn’t answer while thinking. The Ishvalan is young, immensely so. By the looks of his features, he seems to be 12, maybe 13. In a startling moment of understanding, Edward remembers his age, nearly blanching  at the fact that it would make the boy only three or so years younger than Edward. The blonde feels the pressure of his rank compared to his age pressing hard on his shoulders in that damned moment, faltering as his eyes widen and his skin pales in half a second. His resolve firms again, pushing it all back just as he did with Greed’s warning message from earlier. Everything has a time and place. A crisis certainly doesn’t fit either way at the point in time.

By now, Grand should have an area set-up and secured for their juvenile prisoner. The boy needs to have his knee cleaned, the bullet taken out if it is still inside, and the wound properly taken care of. He may be a detainee but that doesn’t mean he’s suddenly lost all his human rights due to the new status. Walking on an injured knee like his isn’t smart but its not like he can be carried properly unless…

“Major Armstrong,” Edward calls. The man steps forward and salutes. Edward looks up at his friend and with a grave tone orders, “I want you to pick the boy up and carry him so as to not jostle his knee any more than necessary. Artelm, you are to come with me. Warrant Officer Rays, continue on with your patrol and be prepared to make a statement later this evening. The rest of you, return to your posts or whatever you were doing before. This does not change anything!”

The assembled crowd gives a chorus of ‘yes sir’ and quickly scramble to follow orders. Armstrong walks forward and gently picks the small albino in his arms while being careful to keep any chance of attack or escape away from him. When he turns and meets Edward’s eyes, Edward turns and resumes walking, immediately heading towards the center of his battalion knowing its the most likely place Grand would’ve set up the holding area. Alex and Martel easily fall in behind Edward. While walking, Edward resolutely keeps his eyes forward. He hears the whispers, feels the dozens of eyes upon his group. He’s not stupid; he knows what they’re most likely saying. Some are probably worried for the young boy simply because he is that, a young boy. Others may be wondering what is going to happen to him next. Many more might be discussing why Edward is even taking a prisoner considering most of the Ishvalans near capture kill themselves before being properly detained. Edward also knows this could easily be a ploy of the ‘rebels’. After all, he’s ‘just a kid’. Well, so is Edward yet look at where and who he is now. Just because someone is a kid does not mean they are incapable of massive destruction.

Edward finds he was correct in believing Basque would place the Ishvalan’s new home in the center of their Battalion’s camp. In fact, it’s placed only a few tents away from Edward’s office tent. He walks to the medium-sized tent and greets the two guards placed just outside the entrance, nodding to them when they salute. Edward has Alex walk in first before entering himself. To the left stands Basque, to the right stands two medics. Alex sets the boy down on the cot as carefully as possible and stands up, saluting Edward. Another nod and Alex is walking out, knowing he is dismissed. When Edward looks back to the boy, the medics are already attending to him.

“Major Grand,” Edward begins while turning towards the man. “Who all did you pick for guarding?”

“Sergeant Wade, Corporal McKenneese, and Corporal Lance,” Basque smoothly replies.

“Do any of them have prejudices that you know of against Ishvalans?”

“I have asked and they have responded in the negative. I personally know Corporal Lance does not hold anything against the people and have him here under strict orders to immediately report any misgivings towards the captive as a failsafe.”

“Good,” Edward quietly sighs out in relief. He had actually worried about that but seeing as Major Grand had thought ahead in regards to the issue, Edward let concern fall away. “Major Grand, you are dismissed but note that we are not done talking either. We have some troubles to go over.”

“Understood, sir!” The man salutes one last time before walking out of the tent. Edward nods to Martel and the woman gives one back in understanding then places herself just next to the tent opening. By the time Edward turns back to the young boy, the medics have already packed everything away. The one higher in rank of the two begins to talk once Edward faces them.

“Lieutenant Colonel Elric, sir, I have treated the boy as was requested,” the older man begins. “His wound has been cleaned and will need to be checked at least once a day, the wrappings changed at the same time. Nothing else seems to be wrong with him outside of a little dehydration. I gave him a bit of water already though he will be needing more. As far as I can see, he is perfectly healthy.”

“Thank you, sir,” Edward returns, giving a slight bow of respect towards his elder. The man smiles gently before walking on, not caring about code of conduct though Edward prefers that. He smiles at their retreating backs but when the flaps of the tent fall back into place, he’s turning curious yet cold eyes onto the young man, boy really.

Edward stands in the middle of the tent with his arms crossed and simply waits. Boys like this one are never patient, always wanting to get to the end point without thinking about the space between A and B. To them, its all the same. Edward would know because at one point, it was the same for himself. The alchemist is rewarded within five minutes of the silent stalemate as the Ishvalan youth speaks for the first time since Edward laid eyes on him.

“What do you want with me,” the boy quietly growls. At first, Edward doesn’t answer. He debates on how he should respond. Looking over the juvenile he finds they do look quite healthy. Well, as healthy as can be expected but fact still remains he isn’t think as a twig or lanky looking. The white hair is cropped close on the sides and a bit longer in length than normal along the top, the back of his head only slightly shorter. His skin is heavily tanned not only form heritage but from the harsh desert sun. With only a sleeveless olive green shirt, worn tan cargo pants, and thin moccasins, there is plenty of skin to evaluate. Despite how worn the boy looks, his flesh remains free of any scarring. It only serves to raise Edward’s suspicion.

“I believe I should ask something akin to that,” Edward lowly mutters with a narrowed gaze. “You are new to this war.” The boy stiffens, still refusing to look right at Edward and instead glaring holes into the tent. “I can tell very easily. While you’re dirty, you’re not filthy. In fact, you’re cleaner than most of the men and women here. Your clothes are in relatively good condition, not threadbare as most other Ishvalans’ are. Also, you’re the youngest Ishvalan we’ve seen attacking. I do believe I’ve never seen anyone your age on any sort of frontline. So why did you attack our encampment.”

Edward stands up straight, moving his arms to cross behind his back. He may be short but he is a Lieutenant Colonel and a State Alchemist. Whether the Ishvalans care for that or not doesn’t matter. Their care means little in the face of the danger a competent alchemist represents. The boy still keeps his gaze away from Ed. At least now he’s looking down at the blanket covering the lower half of his body, almost seeming contemplative. After a few moments, he sighs, allowing his eyes to close as he speaks to Edward.

“I...don’t know,” he hesitantly gives. Edward scoffs, obviously angry as he responds with a biting tone.

“You don’t know. How can you not know when it was reported you were seen with a group of Ishvalans.”

“Because apparently I’m an idiot,” the kid throws back, turning incensed red eyes onto Edward. The alchemist of the two bites back his words, his want to return something that will cut that attitude in half. Instead, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath then opens them again to pin the boy with an intense golden glare.

“Explain. Whether you like it or not, you are under my jurisdiction until my Commanding Officer declares otherwise though something tells me he’ll happily leave you in my care. I’m sure he’ll instead take you himself if he doesn’t like the answers you give me so you better be clear more for your own sake than mine.” At this point, he softens his tone of voice, coming across as sympathetic, concerned, and worried. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt but this is war. If anyone above me demands it, I have no choice but to follow. You must have your own reasons for all of... “ he gestures to the entire boy, “ _ this _ . I have my own reasons for my enlistment.”

“You...just gestured to all of me,” the youth haltingly comments.

“Does it matter?”

“No...I guess not.” The Ishvalan thinks for a moment, clenching his hands into tight fists holding onto the blanket. Suddenly, the fight seems to deflate out of him all at once and he turns a pleading gaze onto Edward. “I just wanted to prove I’m not only a kid. I….I wanted to help. My dad goes onto the field everyday with no guarantee of returning home safely. I thought that maybe-...maybe since I’m a child, I would have a chance to get in close with the person in charge and-...”

“And kill them,” Edward softly finishes for the small child. The kid himself tears up, nodding. Not even ten seconds later, big fat tears are rolling over and down the boy’s cheeks, sniffling sobs rising up within his chest. Edward internally groans, knowing he’s shit at offering any condolences. “Look, stop those tears. You wanna prove you can do something for you dad, right?”

The Ishvalan quickly wipes his cheeks dry, eagerly nodding in Edward’s direction. Ed doesn’t even have to look hard to find the boy’s telling the truth. He genuinely wants to help his dad, help keep him safe, prove he can do something. It brings back bitter memories of wanting to do the same only his dad was missing from the picture. Edward heaves a large and over exaggerated sigh, slapping his flesh hand over his face.

‘ _ What am I getting myself into!? _ ’

“Then you’re going to have to listen and follow everything I tell you to do without questions, got it? Its the only way you’ll be able to stay safe over here. I can’t guarantee you’ll be able to help him but this will let you prove you’re able to do something. You with me?”

“...You promise I’ll stay safe.” Edward’s gonna regret this. He just knows he’s going to.

“As much as I possibly can while during a war,” he softly replies.

“Then yeah, I’ll go with you. My name’s Rowe.”

“Its good to have a name to the face, Rowe. My name is Edward Elric and I am the Lieutenant Colonel in charge of your holding until further notice. If you have any questions, now is the time to ask them.”

“...Why aren’t I being treated like a regular prisoner?”

The question forces a laugh out of Edward. “When I’m in charge, any prisoners we have are treated just as you are being now. I don’t like this war. I have a high hate for it as its a mission of eradicating an entire race. Its wrong but like I said earlier, I can’t disobey orders for my own reasons. Someone I care about very deeply will suffer if I don’t but none of that means I suddenly have to treat all Ishvalans as if they are less than human. Of course, you’ve probably noticed you’re being shackled to a bed with a lot of weight on it. There are guards around your tent not only keeping you in but also keeping you safe from those in the military that would see you harmed. When I leave, they will be under orders to allow no one other than myself, Corporal Artelm, Major Armstrong, Major Grand, and the two medics who saw to you earlier inside this tent.”

“I was always told that you all would...would k-kill me,” Rowe meekly stutters.

“I can’t speak for anyone else but I do not condone senseless killing if I can stop it from happening.”

“I-....thank you, Mr. Elric.”

A groan. “Please, Edward. I hate formal-ness.” Rowe chuckles, looking a bit better now. “I’m going to take my leave but I will return soon enough. Artelm here will retrieve you some water as soon as I leave as well as something light to eat. When I come back, we will discuss more but until then just keep quiet and behave. If a medic other than the two from earlier come in, call for help IMMEDIATELY. In fact, anyone you haven’t yet seen inside this tent enters, scream for help. The guards will be under orders to protect you. Out of anyone guarding you, trust Lance. He’s here to make sure nothing untoward happens to you.”

Rowe nods and it is all the answer Edward needs to turn around and begin walking out of the tent. “Corporal Artelm, once you are done with the tasks assigned to you, head over to my command tent and await me there.”

Martel looks annoyed but salutes and quickly runs off. After seeing her off, Edward makes quick work of checking in with Corporal Lance and laying down the rules for the young blonde. The other two guards are quickly filled in as well regarding their roles and who they are to allow inside. Edward isn’t sure about the Sergeant and the other Corporal but feels Grand’s trust in Lance was well placed.

Walking towards his tent leaves the young alchemist plenty of time to think over the current set of situations before him.

The entire debacle with Grand was problematic enough. Without warning, Greed is demanding Edward place the Major somewhere in the ranks of Fullmetal’s trust. Issue is Edward has never dealt with the stoic man before now. He’s heard of him plenty enough through the grapevine but it was always from an impersonal viewpoint, never so directly. Now Edward has the genuine article before him and has yet to decide anything on the man outside of his alchemical worth but even that is bare-bones. How much to trust Grand with is the real question when he’s involved. Thankfully, Greed left Martel here. If all else fails, Edward can turn to the woman for advice.

Martel herself is another obstacle. Why would Greed leave someone he trusts so much here in an active warfront? Forget the fact she’s been trained in military combat and could easily beat many men and women here. Before now, she was nothing but the messenger and it was a position Edward agreed with as there were few others able to sneak the coded messages successfully to Edward. They just don’t have the ability to blend in as much. Dolcetto is too quick to action when Martel’s job demands the opposite. Bido certainly wouldn’t blend in with his short stature and the spot on his face. Roa’s large frame and intimidating facade wouldn’t be able to assimilate within the ranks either. Ultimately, Martel is best for sending messages to and fro without being caught by the Homunculi but that’s the thing right now, isn’t it? How is she supposed to send messages between Edward and Greed when she’s been posted at the blonde’s side until further notice? 

‘Welcome their Scout’.

Basically, ‘She’s your guard until I say, Elric’.

As if that weren’t enough, Edward now has an Ishvalan child to worry about. Their orders were to kill an entire race though Ed’s previous Company knows he would never order such a thing. He’s glad Rohannes intervened otherwise they would have another dead human being to add to the body count and a child no less. How is he going to play this into his favor? How is he going to make something convincing enough for any report that will allow the child to live? For Rowe to see his family again?

Edward’s head falls back with a groan. ‘ _ What have I gotten myself into this time? _ ’

* * *

 

“Dereg sent me with the note with some orders, as usual,” Martel says with a quick sit on top of Edward’s desk. Sitting in the chair behind said desk with an annoyed look, he can only look down as her rear with a look of utter loathing. He uses that desk, will have to use it in the future, and the best disinfectant they have on base is  _ soap _ for Gate’s sake. She gives him a soft whack on the head with a deadpanned look of disdain. “I don’t know why you think there’s more to it than that.”

“Because there always is,” he finally relents after a bit of silence. He sighs and leans back in his chair to stare at the ceiling of the tent. He’s glad he quick ran to grab his military jacket before heading back to the tent. Before now, he had simply wore the standard tanktop and sweatshirt but with night slowly drawing closer the temperatures were dropping and the jacket always held in heat better than his sweatshirt. Even now, his glove-covered flesh hand feels the coming bite of evening. “Especially with a note like this. So I’ll ask again, explain to me why he believes I need a bodyguard now of all times. And with no dodging the question preferably.”

She sighs as if he had just tasked her with the most annoying job possible in the entire camp. “I would think it should’ve been obvious but this is you we’re talking about.”

“Hey!”

She ignores him. Ouch. “The Philosopher Stones are coming. Who’s to say that’s the only ‘thing’ coming here.”

That catches his attention and he gives her a look from the corner of his eyes before keenly sitting up. “You mean one of the Homunculi. Most likely Envy. With you being partial animal, you’ll be able to tell when they’re nearby. Now this is making more sense. Okay, then what the hell is with his message about Basque Grand?”

At this, Martel shrugs, softly frowning. “Your guess is as good as mine, Edward. I don’t know the Boss’ thought process on that one.”

“Great,” he sighs, drawing the word out. Edward falls bonelessly back into the unforgiving chair. “Which means I’m going to have to figure him out myself. You know, I really do hate that about Greed. Only giving part of the picture.”

“He still gives you more than he gives the rest of us,” she bitterly retorts, murmuring. “If I didn’t know you two as well as I do now, I would think you’re sleeping with each other but we both know that has a worse possibility of happening than the Fuhrer being Wrath.”

“At least you’ve got one thing down even if it is just the impossibility of Greed and I being more than we are now; profiteers using each other for our own gain.”

“He helps you save his brother and you give him his eternal life. I still thank he’s going to end up hating that outcome. No more sleeping with women.”

“Hopefully he doesn’t realize that until it’s too late. Otherwise, I lose my biggest informant.”

The silence that falls between the two of them is heavy, overbearing like a wet blanket. Just as leaching too. It kills any attempt at shearing through the constraint surrounding them both. Edward is sure Martel is brooding just as much as he is himself. They both have heavy realities imposing themselves upon their perceptions, forcing them to bend in order to survive.

Martel is the first to speak up. “So what now?”

Must be the question of the day because its one Edward has been constantly asking himself though not in those same words.

‘ _ What do I do now? _ ’

The words taunt him.

“Right now,” he slowly starts, “I need to find a way to keep that boy alive, perhaps find a way to release him that’s viable enough for Central. For the Fuhrer. One wrong step for me and my brother suffers for it. I can’t afford that.”

“...And after that?”

“Get us all out of here alive and as physically unharmed as possible,” is his morbid response. “I’ll talk to Grand tomorrow with Alex. I want you present as well though if you can keep yourself hidden, do so until we can confirm his trustworthiness. Alex is only to be there as a show of strength. After that, it’s reassigning everyone between the Companies. A message from Vessman while we were dealing with the Ishvalan; we move in two days.”

“What plans do you have in mind?”

“Well, like I told Grand, he and his Company are going to be our Combat Engineer and Sniper group. They’ll defuse bombs before the fighting starts while hopefully staying underneath the radar of the Ishvalans then finding nests for the Snipers. They’re going to be the long-range combat group. Roy’s group will be the Vanguard while Kimblee’s group will be the Middle.”

“That doesn’t account for you.”

“Where else will I be but the one in the forefront leading them all. I’m going to use a Philosopher’s Stone, there is no bypassing that. So will Roy and Grand. Kimblee will not as his position will not warrant the usage of one. You,” he says with a quick pointed look towards Martel, “will be with the long-ranged unit or you will be here. There is no debating this. I will not see you dead in this war you have no place in. The decision is final.”

“Fine.”

“I’m going to assume you’ve got a tent to sleep in while you’re here otherwise you’d be moaning and groaning how you’re a lady and should be treated like one.” Its a shit attempt at uplifting the dark mood hanging over them but its better than nothing. If he’s going to be honest, its better than most. Right now, its the most effort he’s willing to put in while being so emotionally tired. He thought he would be used to it by now but apparently it only got worse since coming here.

“You’ll be assuming right, Fullmetal twerp.” The remark only gets a dour and half-hearted glare to which Martel grins in response.

“Get out of here then,” Edward says with a yawn. “I’m going to be turning in soon too. For once, I want to sleep. Tomorrow, do me a favor and tail either Mustang or Kimblee from morning to afternoon. Your choice as to which so long as it gets done. And no, I won’t ask you do the other at a later date.”

“I wouldn’t ‘do’ either of them and you know it.”

“You know what I mean,” he replies, exhaustion dragging his vocal chords into rougher territory. He’s too tired for Martel’s attempt at flustering him, unable to muster up even a semi-normal reaction.

“Yeah, I do,” she easily replies while slipping off his desk. She pats her pants free of any non-existant sand before slipping her hands into the pockets. She takes one hand out for a momentary wave only to finally exit, the tent flaps shutting out her image.

Edward relaxes into his seat, staring at the place his friend disappeared with a tired sort of concentration. He only means to close his eyes for a moment. Just a moment of rest and he would get up to leave the tent. Just a moment. The thought quickly slips away when his conscious mind drops into the oblivion of sleep.

* * *

 

“Ed!!” Edward’s little brother calls, all happy smiles and glowing honey eyes. He holds up the book he was reading to show Edward the page and points at a specific sentence. “I think this should be considered for the transmutation!”

Edward looks over the passage, reviewing it in conjunction to the rest of their notes. After a moment, he begins to nod, a proud smile inching across his lips. “I think you’re right, Al! We can’t just build the body, we also have to account for the soul otherwise it would just be a doll.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t sound too pleasant,” Al softly says and they both shudder at the thought. They want their mom back, not some random body.

“Good job catching that one, little brother.” The smile Ed shows Al seems to make the younger even more excited. They go back to their silence of researching, reading through all of their father’s textbooks and alchemic journals. The silence goes on for a little while before Ed’s wistful thoughts break the peace by slipping through his lips.

“What do you think mom will say to us after we bring her back?”

“What makes you think we can do it, brother?” The answering voice is tinny, sounding as if from the inside of a metal tube or box. Its unexpectedness forces Edward to look up only to see a strip of metal with an alchemical seal made of blood. Surrounding them is nothing but darkness. Gone is the warmth of their home, the familiar sight of books, the comfort of his brother. Blood trickles over the ground from further beyond the last piece of his brother, bright and gleaming in the unforgiving darkness.

“I-I-” Edward is cut off by a grotesque wet sound, a cough following after it. Golden eyes widen in horror and realization as they look towards the source. A shuddering gasp is caught in his throat at the- the  _ thing _ before him but this time its their mother opened up like some butchered carcass. Some patches of her skin look wrinkled and dead, bleeding and showing rotting muscle beneath in some area and decomposing bones in others.

“How could you do this, Ed,” her distorted voice comes. “How could you fail me? Fail your brother?” Edward cries out in horror, in dismay, in fear.

“I-I didn’t mean for it to end like this!!! We only wanted you back!” Behind his broken mother’s form, red eyes gleam from the darkness, staring at him. Slowly, the sight grows to tanned skin then white hair. Young Edward stares at all the people that slowly fill in around him, his brother now gone. He feels so sick as realization once more dawns upon him. He hears the crackle of alchemy and screams, “NO STOP!”

In one blinding flash, they all turn into husks, warm blood spurting from their eyes, nose, and mouth and landing on Edward. He feels the slickness of it, the viscosity as it pours down his skin. Edward slowly looks down at his hands, seeing them covered by red-stained gloves, blue sleeves hiding his arms.

Red.

It pools around him, slowly raising higher and higher in height. Edward can’t even react as he feels a hand on his shoulder and gives him a gentle squeeze. His vision shakes and wavers, the edges beginning to fade to black as a soft voice croons in his ear.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” Truth gleefully hums.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WC: 5388  
> Next Chapter Current WC: 5246
> 
> Didn't like the sneak peak being at the absolute end, did ya!? Haha. Nothing special about this chapter but the next one? HA. This one is a little later than usual (?) due to a con I went to this weekend. Completely drained me and wasn't able to work on the next one. There's also the fact I had half of it ready but had to scrap all of Chapter 5. Was too rushed and I REALLY didn't like it. Pissed me off just looking at it. So yes, I restarted Chapter 5 and just recently finished it!
> 
> For the coded message last chapter! Here are what the key words meant:  
> Dark green (associated with ambition, greed, and jealousy.) - Bottle  
> Dull Yellow (represents caution, decay, sickness, and jealousy. ) - Straw  
> Black (death)  
> Trees - the labs (lab five more specifically)  
> Harvesters - Bigwigs of Amestris  
> Feast - Ishval  
> Apples - Fake Philosopher's Stone  
> Fae - State Alchemists  
> Scout - Martel  
> Fae of Blood - Basque Grand  
> ‘-have not eat the forbidden fruits of Eden’ - Code phrase for ‘they aren’t with Father/the Homonculi’. The fact it also says ‘welcome their ___’ also means a) Grand can be trusted though how much is up to Edward and b) because Scout is the closest to the phrase means Greed has sent Martel as a temporary bodyguard until further notice.  
> Greed - Dereg
> 
> Sneak Peak for Chapter 5!:  
> ["-Major Armstrong, what element does sand commonly hold.”
> 
> Armstrong makes a small noise of surprise but quickly recovers with a salute and an answer.
> 
> “Silica, sir.”
> 
> “Correct. And what common part of a window uses silica in its making.”
> 
> It takes a moment but soon Armstrong is hesitantly answering, “Glass, sir?”]
> 
> Shit is about to hit the fan, ya'll!!!
> 
> Thank you for reading!  
> -Dehmer


	5. (Aggregate)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The nightmare always leaves you at the climax, doesn't it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!
> 
> I know. It's been a while but there is an explanation!
> 
> Short of it: I almost completely burned myself out.
> 
> Long of it: I kept trying to force myself to write even when I wasn't feeling up to it or couldn't really get into the mindset of the characters. Because of that, I started burning myself out on this fic. Obviously I'm back and working on it once more.
> 
> So! This chapter is technically early because I haven't finished CH 6 yet. Why? Because I want your opinion on this!
> 
> Remember how there was a scene for Roy and his group in a chapter? How many of you would like another shot like that? It was either that or a bonus chapter in his POV - though it may be significantly shorter it it's the second option.
> 
> Tell me in the comments at the end which you'd rather see! Your opinion would be greatly appreciated.
> 
> Also, please read the End Notes if you'd be interested in being a Beta reader for this and/or something else.

The moment he wakes is the moment he realizes there are gunshots ringing in the air. He doesn’t think when he sees a figure in front of him, only reacts. His hands clap and within a moment, the glove which covers his metal hand rips as the top of the automail is transmuted into a sleek blade. There isn’t any coordination after that as he launches into them, knocking them back and partially on the desk. His legs land on either side of their body and fists his right in the material of their clothing, the shiny edge of his blade pressing against their pale neck. Golden eyes stare down, unseeing of concrete details despite looking from one blue eye to the other. Edward pants as he sits there while the sound of gunfire, yelling, screaming, and running footsteps continues. He can’t calm down. He can’t. There’s too many stimuli to keep worrying about, sounds, scents, and tastes neverending.

He hears the sounds of battle and pain.

He smells the tang of gunpowder and the dryness of the arid sands.

He tastes the copper and iron of blood and the bite of oil.

Everything is saturated in these sensations and then some. All Edward can manage is to push back the urgency his mind demands is ‘needed’ for each and every one of these feelings. Rationally, he knows they don’t need such concentration. Rationality doesn’t often come easy when one is in the middle of an anxiety attack. The remoteness of his thoughts brings a hysterical chuckle out of the Fullmetal Alchemist, eyes wild and scared. For once, he truly feels like his age - like a child. He’s so terrified of the overload he knows he is on the cusp of falling into. For this, he’s thankful Alex keeps his silence, hands raised in a show of obvious surrender. Seeing those hands earlier is the only reason Edward didn’t slice his neck open. But Edward keeps edging closer and closer towards that dangerous precipice, he needs to find a way to block it all out.

Edward’s hands shake as he slowly releases Alex. He looks at them as if they were foreign before quickly going to slap them over his ears. Instead of the familiar chill of automail against his left ear, he feels a larger and warm hand slip over before the metal touches. His gaze snaps over and follows the arm to Alex. Unbidden, tears well up in Edward’s eyes and quickly overflow to sprint down his dusty cheeks. Young eyes slip close and Edward bows his head down with grit teeth while tenderly covering Alex’s hand with his own metal one. Only before Alex will Edward openly cry, relief too much of a cooling balm to his frazzled nerves to keep contained as every sound around him is muffled heavily. Every breath is easier to take and the scents aren’t as strong as they were before. Progress is slow but seen as opens his eyes, feeling safe enough to do so. Understanding blues stare up at him and Edward quickly looks away as shame runs along his body just below his skin, a cold and slowing feeling. Edward’s teeth grind of their own accord.

His rips the hands covering his ears off and quickly gets off of Alex and the table to stand. Alex -of course- is only half a second behind Edward and is right there as the superior officer nearly falls down, a steadying hand on the younger. Edward shakes it off and stands once more, this time rigid and sure.

He doesn’t have time to waste on his pitiful state of mind.

Edward silently transmutes his glove and automail back to one piece and slips the former on then walks to the entrance of his office tent. Alex wordlessly follows him at his heels. Edward turns and makes his way towards Vessman’s tent. He wishes he could go and oversee his men but with his rank, he wouldn’t be allowed, Edward knows this. Alex is Edward’s go-to second command, the one he trusts and holds in his personal council. Where Edward goes during official business, Alex comes with. It’s how Edward works. Besides, Edward had a feeling he will need Armstrong to run some messages as the meeting progresses.

“Give me a status report on the battle, Major,” Edward orders. Only a beat of silence sits between it and Alex’s response.

“Yes sir. Last update I received from all sides detailed this: the West side is being hailed down upon by at least fifty Ishvalans. Both the North and South sides have minimal numbers going against them while the Eastern side has of yet to be hit with this attack.”

Now that throws Edward for a loop. Their Eastern side faces Ishval so why would it be so weak of a front? The West he can understand as it is the weakest side with the recent development. Nearly no one knows each other well enough yet to form a seamless unit. Cohesive, yes. Anyone can follow orders but ‘seamless’ takes trust and that is not something everyone can share too easily and have faith in. He knows his own men and women are perfect in working on their own but joining another larger body of people will shake things up. Doesn’t change the fact that not having any attack on the East is alarming and a sign of something. What that sign means, Edward isn’t sure. It could mean an ambush. It could mean the Ishvalans are trying to simply take advantage of a weak spot. It could mean many things and none of it was concrete. Regardless, Edward is pretty sure they’ll all hold strong.

The East side has two State Alchemists. First is Isaac McDougal, the Freezing Alchemist. With his ability, he is able to freeze all the blood in a person’s body from a single touch. Instant cardiac arrest. He’s hard to work in long-range but close-range and he’s good at his job. The second on the East end is Markus Daviin, the Modelling Alchemist. He has a photographic memory and perfect recall. With both, he is is able to remember any blueprint of any item with exact detail. He’s able to make bullets, guns, cannons, bombs, and anything else with a blueprint he’s seen. The South side has the Silver Alchemist, Giolio Comanche. He’s not good at making large-scale firearms like Basque Grand but he still does well with weaponization, specifically long-ranged such as chains and spears. The second Alchemist there is one under Edward’s command, Kimblee. The man’s company lies on the southern side of Edward’s camp and seeing as Solf can create a bomb out of anything, Edward doesn’t doubt his abilities. The North holds Roy Mustang and Basque Grand, the Flame and the Iron-Blood Alchemists respectively. Both are amazing with long-ranged situations; there’s no need for a contention in their regards. The West would normally have Edward and Alex but of course they are currently absent from the battlefield. Ed’s not in any worry despite this fact as he -at the very least- trusts Grand and Mustang to appropriately handle the situation. Solf he wouldn’t trust with his jacket but Edward can’t exactly demote the man for no reason. And although Edward hates the Crimson Alchemist, he admits having the man under the government’s thumb rather than out and about is a better idea.

The thought alone of that sadist running about and commanding anyone makes Edward grimace in distaste. Indubitably, he’s leading many men and women to their death with his obvious and purposeful strategic blunders and killing countless Ishvalans. He’s nothing more than a wolf in sheep’s clothing at this point, a monster hiding beneath a human facade.

“Are they making any demands?” Edward ends up asking. Maybe they were here for Rowe.

“No, sir,” Alex dutifully responds. So much for that idea.

“Any personal word sent from one of our other Majors?”

“Basque requested help from some of my men and sent over Roy in exchange. The Ishvalans over there were getting too close for Mustang’s ability without causing minor burning to our own. Seeing as we were keeping them pinned on the Western front, I granted the action on your behalf. Other than that, nothing appears to be amiss.”

“Casualties.”

“Five Amestrians, at least ten Ishvalans.”

Edward doesn’t say another thing as they close in on Vessman’s own office tent. As he comes closer, he can see the ends of multiple shadows within the tent from just beneath the bottom edges. The two soldiers standing guard before the entrance don’t even glance at him as Edward stalks forward. The sentiment is returned as he throws open the flaps and walks in without a single look towards either of them, Alex still hot on his heels. Ed salutes and the two other Lieutenant Colonels and the Brigadier General Vessman both stop and look up. Only Vessman is quick to usher Edward over.

“Ah, Fullmetal Alchemist, Edward Elric!” the old man greets with a tense smile. “At ease. Now, hurry on over if you will. I’d like to quickly get you up to speed and commence with planning strategies.”

Edward nods and drops the salute before coming up to stand before the table. On either side of him are two other Lieutenant Colonels, obviously the other commanders of the two battalions. Both are taller than Edward himself but that’s no surprise considering the youngest one of the two looks about thirty-five and the other looks around forty. The only reason Edward is a Lieutenant Colonel at his age is due to two major factors, the smallest being Malavi. After almost single-handedly taking out Malavi and saving the countless lives of their own, he was given a battlefield promotion and was sent up to an L.C. within the week. They were transferred here a month after that and by then, he had the respect of those working below him. He still isn’t sure if that respect is more fear or awe for some. Who knows, maybe it’s a combination.

“Jardon, please continue and explain along the way for Elric’s benefit,” Vessman stonily commands. Jardon -the younger of the two other Officers- nods and points at the map as needed.

“Yes sir. As you know, we are currently under attack by Ishvalan forces. Their intentions are unclear outside of killing our own. We have a Platoon’s worth facing off with our Western side - Elric’s Company. Down south and up north, both have an estimated half a platoon and both my own and Fischer’s companies are handling the situation. I’ve already sent Narsquak to the Southern front as long-ranged help for Comanche while Fischer has sent McDougal to the Northern front to aid Mustang and Grand. He’s under orders to go around to the attackers’ rear and start picking them off from there. We’ve decided to keep Daviin on the Eastern as re-supply. As of right now, the only goal is to either drive them off or eliminate them in their entirety.”

“Roy was sent to the Western front last I was informed,” Edward interrupts, looking at Jardon. “The attackers in the North were getting too close for him to safely use his alchemy without burning our own men. Thank you for sending the help they need.”

Edward is given a respectful dip of Jardon’s head before the dark skinned noirette continues.

“We have multiple strategies we’re thinking of using and that is when you had walked in, Elric. We’ve the idea of capturing a few for information but the success rate of that happening is low. There’s also the move and sending some of our snipers to the backside of each front and taking them out that way. No doubt there’s more hiding and waiting.”

“My thoughts exactly,” the older officer states, Lieutenant Colonel Fischer. “There’s also the fact that the West is being hit the hardest. Elric’s group just recently arrived and they decided to attack there. I think we’ve been getting some of their Scouts over here. That, or we have a mole.”

“A mole?” Vessman asks, his hazel eyes narrowed and sharp. “You would believe we have someone amidst us who is feeding information to the enemy? The only people who know the going ons in this meeting are everyone present as well as our seconds. Unless you’re going to be pointing fingers, Lieutenant Colonel, I’d suggest you do well to carefully measure your words before recklessly spitting them out. You’re 41 for Pete’s sake.” The last words he mutters with an annoyed eyeroll. Seems like Fischer’s inability to trust is a reoccurring issue. “No, I would rather think it’s a Scout or two. Haven’t your soldiers seen Ishvalans on the Western border of our encampment, Lieutenant Colonel Elric?”

“Yes sir,” Edward responds with a nod.

“Now calm yourself, Fischer.”

“Sir, if I may?” Edward raises a hand and looks towards his C.O. patiently. Vessman simply raises a brow and nods. Looking down at the map, Edward points towards their Eastern border. “I find it odd how there is no one attacking from the Eastern side. I mean, you would think they would take advantage of the commotion on the Western. We’ve already weakened that side by sending two capable State Alchemists elsewhere. It’s as if you’re asking them to attack and invade, wiping us out. I think they may have something planned for over there.”

They all listen to his words, their seconds each behind a pace of their C.O.s. Alex is a confident and strong presence at Edward’s back, one he can trust. They of course can’t speak during the meeting as it isn’t any of their places unless they are asked to speak. Knowing Alex would never outright go against Edward has the younger blonde’s resolve strengthening. He can always count on Alex being the help needed and not just because of his intimidating physique. It’s his name that also helps in certain situations as the Armstrongs are a family with a large military influence. Before Alex, his grandfather was a General and Alex’s father a General as well. Even now, his older sister Olivier Mira Armstrong runs Briggs as its Major General Ice Queen. With titles like that within the family, it’s no wonder the name carries the weight it does. Already, he can tell the difference. If Edward had anyone lesser behind him, the other officers in this room would not be taking his words as seriously as they are now. He can see the genuine doubt, suspicion, most importantly worry in each of their eyes as they study the map and the area Edward had pointed out.

“And what do you suggest we do, Fullmetal?” Fischer snottily asks. Even his voice is annoying, full of too much pride and self-confidence. Edward’s sure if spirit animals were a thing, his would be a peacock. “I would hope you’d have some form of advice considering you pointed this out.”

“Matter of fact,” Edward starts, grinning like a shark with the scent of fresh blood in their nose, “I do. We have one major resource all around us that can be used to our advantage. Major Armstrong, what element does sand commonly hold.”

Armstrong makes a small noise of surprise but quickly recovers with a salute and an answer.

“Silica, sir.”

“Correct. And what common part of a window uses silica in its making.”

It takes a moment but soon Armstrong is hesitantly answering, “Glass, sir?”

“Thank you, at ease.” Edward waits until Alex has dropped the salute before continuing one. “Glass is a fragile mixture made when you heat up silica dioxide up to 1475 K and rapidly cool it back down. Luckily, the sand around us holds a large amount of that same compound. If we can create large chunks of glass and find a way to simultaneously blast it and break it into a thousand shards, we have an endless ammunition that limits the amount of casualties on our side. Going all out here will do nothing but exhaust our men and women. What we need is a concise plan of attack on the main city after we clear out the men here.

“I’ve heard ‘the path of least resistance makes all rivers, and some men, crooked’. Here, the path of least resistance is going to raise us higher than our enemies. The more they try and fight with force, the more and more steam they will altogether lose.”

He can’t say how much he hates this war. He can’t say what he truly wants. He can’t say a damn thing that will give him away because he knows nothing about these two Lieutenant Colonels. Vessman already gave Edward his offer of aid and if he were truly with the Homonculi, he wouldn’t be out here fighting a war he doesn’t belong in. No, Edward can’t vocalise his words of condemnation. He can’t tell them they should be fighting alongside the men and women out there shooting and risking their lives. He can’t say how much he wishes the two dead for the obvious keenness on his idea, the piggish grins twisting their lips. Disgusting men. It is the people who are like these two men who make the world this shit hole it is. May as well lump them together with murderers, psychopaths, sociopaths, and the crazies. They all willingly choose to abandon their humanity, their empathy. And it’s not out of necessity.

“Your ideas on how to accomplish this, Fullmetal?” Edward looks to Vessman with the older man’s words, his eyes conveying the steely hatred Edward feels as well. For once, he has found another kindred ally.

“I would need the Modelling Alchemist Markus Daviin, the Freezing Alchemist Isaac McDougal, and the Flame Alchemist Roy Mustang. For now, it would just be Daviin. The other two will come when it is the time to utilize the weapons created between myself, Armstrong, and Daviin.” He points to the three areas being attacked. “Until they strike, I need these areas protected. We have a limited amount of time until-”

Suddenly, a soldier interrupts them all by running in with a smile. Her insignia ranks her as a Lance Corporal. The young woman doesn’t hesitate to tell the news.

“The Ishvalans have pulled back,” she reports. Her salute is regulation perfect and Edward narrows his eyes. They never pull back. Never. They may retreat when they’re being attacked directly but they’ve never just given up after trying to fight. For them, it’s all or nothing and there should never be a retreat. There’s only one logical explanation.

They’re not done.

Edward whirls about to face Vessman and the Brigadier General himself turns hard eyes onto the young alchemist. “Sir!! Permission to go ahead with my idea?”

“Permission granted. Lieutenant Colonels Jardon and Fischer, you are to follow Edward’s every command for the execution of this plan. As of now, I am giving the Fullmetal Alchemist an Emergency Battlefield Promotion to Colonel. Until further notice, he is the second highest ranking officer in the camp. Now go. Dismissed.”

Initially, there are sounds of shock and outrage from everyone within the tent as the statement finally registers. Even Edward’s eyes widen in shock and his lips tweak down in a minor show of the prickling fury beneath his golden skin. No one is able to get a word in edgewise without risking insubordination on their records so no one speaks up. Instead, everyone hustles to leave the tent but Vessman calls out to Ed. He stops and turns on his heel to look. Vessman simply looks at Edward and gives him a grim but determined smile.

“Needs must, Fullmetal. This war is gruesome and horrible but remember who it is you are trying to keep alive.” Edward salutes.

“Will do, sir,” he finally responds and turns around to run out of the tent without waiting for dismissal. He’s met with four faces, one friendly, one neutral, and two hostile. Armstrong and Grand take a step forward, Alex glaring at the Lieutenant Colonels and Grand looking between all of them suspiciously. Its a tense moment before Jardon sighs and steps forward with a slight bow to Ed.

“My forces are at your disposal, sir,” the man says with a dead tone. Edward is not impressed but he doesn't have time to deal with the wounded pride of a idiot. Though he is polite enough to speak in response.

“Thank you, Lieutenant Colonel Jardon. Lieutenant Colonel Fischer, please have Major McDougal sent up to the Eastern-most border.” Edward looks over at the older male and meets their angry grey eyes. Edward doesn’t back down, keeping the gaze as long as necessary to make them bow down. Fischer grinds his teeth before narrowing his eyes with a click of his tongue and looking away.

“Yes sir,” he grits out. “I’ll have him sent over ASAP. Major Daviin you can find at the Supply Tent. He was posted there as soon as the fighting broke out.” Edward smirks at the admission and the subjugation of such an asshole. At least now, Edward can pull Rank. He won’t have to fight as hard as he would’ve had Edward looked away first. Fullmetal may be young but he is by no means a child. Regardless, he allows the momentary feeling of immature glee at watching them both leave, their backs retreating into the fray. Then it’s over and he forces himself to come back to the present time and place as he looks over at Grand with an unsure gaze. What could’ve happened to cause the Major to come and seek out Armstrong or Edward himself?

Black eyes bore in Edward’s own as the tanned man speaks up, “We’ve run into an issue, sir.”

He looks between both of Grand’s eyes with a searching look, trying to figure this man out for once instead of fumbling with his unexpected actions. Ed doesn’t have time to waste and he groans then turns around to start walking towards the Eastern border of the camp. “Tell me on the way, Major. Besides, I may be able to use your help. Armstrong, I need you to send Mustang to the East side and position yourself on the West in his place. We need at least one State Alchemist in each area in case I’m wrong. Also, have Rohannes retrieve Rowe and bring him to the East as well. I want to avoid bloodshed if possible and if I have to use Rowe to accomplish that, so be it. Meeting point is the Resupply tent.”

“I-,” Alex stops short before he says anything more. In private and during peace times, Alex would talk out of line and Edward wouldn’t care. Now, it’s a matter of how many lives will be lost if everyone doesn’t hurry. Not only that but if Alex speaks out of line now, Edward will be forced to punish the man as he is under Edward’s command. This is especially true in front of Basque Grand. If Alex back-talks in front of the man, it would be an example of Edward being a pushover in some senses. For the time being, Ed needs Grand to respect him, not think of or treat him as a child. Edward is thankful for the understanding he and his comrade share as Alex gives Edward a chilling scowl. “Yes, sir.”

Alex salutes and then he’s on his way, leaving Grand and Edward together.

“Funny how you and I end up alone together recently,” Edward muses, breaking the silence between them.

Grand huffs a laugh of disbelief and says in his normal gravelly tone, “I assure you, it is not intentional, sir.”

Edward looks over to his side and at Grand, expression unreadable as he hides his apprehension. Greed had wrote Grand could be trusted but why and with how much? He ends up sighing and shrugging his shoulders while looking back in front of him.

“Whatever. Now tell me what was so important you nearly interrupted a war meeting?”

“Some of our men spotted Ishvalans planting lands mines in the sand before moving just out of range of our weapons. The distance was too large for even myself and Mustang. Seeing as we were simply defending, we didn’t give chase though we kept an eye on their movements. They moved North first, then East. Some point between the moment we saw them at the North border and heading towards the East border, they gained a significant amount of people. I came to warn you and the other Commanders of the impending situation but I believe you already anticipated it, sir.”

“So I was right then,” Edward mutters to himself. The enemy truly is planning to try and push them further away. When Ed and his company came to this specific camp, they had already retreated to an area further from the battlefield. Now that he honestly stops and considers how the Ishvalans may interpret that action, he can see where they believe it as a sign of weakness. It’s only a matter of chipping away at the chink in their armor before they’re forced back home - in their view. With all the State Alchemists being placed at the final arena of this entire war, there would be no need for Amestris’ forces to back down. Edward still believes in what he said during the meeting. All they need is to drive the Ishvalans back and then strike them at the heart. The less energy, people, and resources they expend, the better off they all will be.

Edward bites at the tip of his gloved flesh hand, lost in thought until Grand speaks up.

“You seem very at ease with this war, sir,” he lowly says and when Edward looks up, he can see the suspicion in their eyes.

“I’m not,” Edward honestly replies. He turns his eyes back to their path. “I’m a ticking time bomb of self-hate and despair. Until I return home, I have to pretend that it’s not people I’m killing or sending to their death. If I do, I’ll lose myself and I can’t. I have more at risk than just an insignificant promotion or paycheck. Failing here means...failing someone very important to me. Someone who needs me to win here so we can see each other again. So until I’m back home, I have to disconnect myself from all this or self-destruct and lose everything I care about.” He gives a sideways glance at Grand. “Isn’t it the same for everyone else?”

He doesn’t respond for a good while, not until they’re almost to their destination and Edward doesn’t give him another look. When he does speak, there’s a resigned note in his voice but when Ed looks, there’s nothing given away on their face.

“I suppose you are right in many regards.”

They both fall silent as they reach the Eastern area and the supply tents where the Modelling Alchemist is usually posted. At least, that’s what his file said when Edward read it earlier and what he was told by Fischer. He’s no use in actual combat but his quick thinking skills allows him to easily create any object with the circles he uses. Hence why he covers supplies. It certainly costs the army less to ship the raw materials to make everything and let Daviin do all the other work. And with the ability to turn any sand into stone, a cannon would be easy work for him. It’s only a question of how many he could make in such a short time as using one of the actual Howitzers wouldn’t be ideal. They aren’t made for all kinds of ammo but making one with alchemy that can shoot glass is easy - in theory. There’s minor details to hash out but the end results will be the same. A cannon that can send glass shards flying and through the enemy.

The thought process behind the idea of glass ammo is simple. Glass is, again, fragile. Smash it and it turns into a thousand pieces that are just as easily breakable. Get a spear-like shard in an enemy and the more they move, the more damage they do to themselves as that shard breaks into more and more little pieces. From there, those pieces will break even further. A small enough piece slips into a vein and some limbs will be lost within moments if it doesn’t outright kill them. While this is all theory, there is a large rate of success behind the plan and its motives.

Now they need the right tools to carry the idea out.

As Edward reaches for the flap to go inside, it’s ripped away and reveals a mousy looking man with black hair, Ishvalan colored skin, and steely blue eyes. Eyes which look just as surprised and caught off-guard as Edward feels. They adjust their glasses up a bit as the sudden stop seems to have dislodged them just the slightest amount. They look from Ed to Grand then back to Ed before recognition flares in his eyes and countenance.

“You’re the Fullmetal Alchemist, aren’t you?” he asks, pointing at Edward. He then looks at Grand. “And you’re the Iron-Blood Alchemist. Am I correct?”

Edward flounders for an answer but luckily Grand picks up the slack for him.

“We are. And you’re Markus Daviin, the Modelling Alchemist.” The small man grins and nods.

“That would be right!” He looks back at Edward and blinks owlishly, cocking his head to the side. Something tells the blonde that there’s a screw or two loose inside this guy’s head. “What would you two need in the supply tent? I can quick grab it for you, if you’d like?”

Edward shakes his head and finally speaks up saying, "No, but I need you. Until we’re through with the task I am about to propose to you, you’re under my command.”

“But you’re a Lieutenant Colonel, sir,” Daviin says, looking quite confused. “And what about my Commanding Officer, Lieutenant Colonel Fischer.”

“I was just given an Emergency Battlefield Promotion by Brigadier General Vessman and placed as his second in command,” Edward responds, crossing his arms with a scowl. “It’s Colonel now. Vessman gave permission himself for my idea.”

“Oh.” Daviin mutters the word with a slight look of awe, eyes wide. Doubtless he isn’t the only one who understands the implications of that. Considering Edward knows Vessman expects to die here, it would put Edward in charge of his Brigade. And with the position empty, the bastard is giving Edward an easy way in further. At the same time, the new position will put Edward closer to being under the Homunculi’s thumb but the opportunity to ruin them is there. It would only be a game of waiting but that’s in the future. Right now, he has a battle to finish and a war to win.

“Well, what can I do for you then, Colonel Elric?” Daviin adds. Edward smirks.

“You and I are going to be making some Glassed Cannons.” Daviin looks stumped at the name, head tilting again in even more confusion, eyebrows furrowing in what is most likely worry.

“Hah?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said, I'm looking for a Beta reader or two. One for this would be nice but I'm also slowly working on a big fic for Kingsman set in a sort of modified set of Omegaverse.
> 
> I'd be looking for someone to ask these kinds of questions when reading:  
> https://drive.google.com/file/d/11FMJObSb8PV4oow4gt0FcE6HvPBBZUwI/view?usp=drivesdk
> 
> If you think you'd be able to do that and are interested, comment and I'll find a way to send you details!
> 
> Thank you!
> 
> As always, constructive criticism and comments are appreciated!
> 
> WC: 5,208
> 
> CH 6 Sneak Peak:  
> [He would forever remember how things so deadly shined like resplendent stars in the grey-blue skies of morning.
> 
> He would never forget how those ‘stars’ were the horrible harbingers of Ishvalan screams of agony.
> 
> Of Rowe’s shrill screams.
> 
> “Reload!”]


	6. (Fragmentation)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> War rages on rampant and more lives are unnecessarily taken. In the blood, a seed is born.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Pzab7022 for being a Beta Reader! Also thanks to the others I asked for a quick glance!

The air is dry, more arid compared to the three other fronts, and the scent of blood is noticeably missing. There is no sharp tang snapping at Edward’s nostrils, no metallic hint threatening to plunge his mind in darker memories. It’s quiet, save for the breezes generously blowing about the sand. Usually, hearing nothing would be a blessing but now, it’s a bad omen. If the Ishvalans were really retreating, there would be plenty noise of their forces moving about, their feet plodding through the sand to head back home. Yet there is nothing. Even the distant screaming of the wounded has fallen relatively silent. It’s as if the slowly coming dawn is taking in a breath, awaiting a key moment before breaching the eastern horizon where it colors the skies a dull grey.

“Major Daviin,” Edward calls from his spot behind the growing line of cannons. Edward looks up from his place on his knees in the sand, looking towards where the young man in question was slowly constructing another one. “How many more do you have left?”

Pale, wheat colored light spills from where Markus continues his work, the shape of the next piece of artillery being casted in shadows as it’s being formed. The Major himself is obviously having trouble keeping up as his stamina quickly begins to taper off. Daviin’s file swiftly flashes through Edward’s mind and nowhere does he remember reading Markus wasn’t fit in stamina.

‘ _ Then again, he’s most likely been stuck doing small-scale transmutations while stationed here,’ _ Edward thinks to himself as Markus’s transmutation is finally finished. ‘ _ These are all very large and very specific in nature and thus need to have a larger amount of energy expended to finish the job.’ _

“I’ve got eleven more to go, Colonel Elric!” Markus is fast to reply and Edward mentally congratulates him for not sounding as out of breath as he looks.

“I have about half the ammunition completed so far,” Edward responds. “Keep up the good work and we’ll be done with this soon. We can’t let this sit.” His only answer is one in affirmative and the soft yellow glow from before returns as Markus quickly moves on to create the next cannon. Edward turns back to look at his own handiwork, counting each piece of ammunition.

Before him lay an estimated seventy to seventy-five glass spheres with varying degrees of opaqueness. Each and every single one of them is the same exact size - around that of a grapefruit. Internal cracks run along about half of them while the rest are perfectly whole. All are in separate piles accordingly with the fractured ones on Edward’s right. As long as he makes a total of twenty-five-hundred shots, everything should go smoothly. Hopefully no one is an inherent idiot while handling any part of this plan. One wrong move and the cannon could explode in front of their faces.

A pure white light flashes behind Edward, but he isn’t startled by it in any way. In fact, he grins while peeking over his shoulder and seeing Grand working on the barrel of the next cannon in his line. Around him, various soldiers are quickly piling the necessary components next to each artillery gun before the exact amount is placed and they’re moving on. The assurance of him strengthening each weapon is comforting; with the extra work, everything would be less likely to go ‘ka-boom’.

As he continues his own work, his mind wanders to other variables. Such as the sun.

With the upcoming confrontation, they’ll be facing the East. The dawn is fast approaching and with it, the sun will easily end up blinding their own. Yes, the glass ammunition would help with that issue but seeing where the enemy is in the first place would be an advantage. Knowing where to aim would simply be beneficial instead of wildly shooting at an outline of a ghost. The image of more blood staining the golden sand wells up in his head and Grand’s words from earlier seep through Ed’s mental walls.

‘ _ You seem very at ease with this war, sir. _ ’

‘I’m not’ Ed had answered then. He had spewed words about temporarily forgetting just what he was doing, what he was snuffing out. How could he though? How could Edward forget that he was taking the light of life from people’s eyes - from so many human being’s eyes? He woke up from vivid nightmares remembering the pleading, the begging, the screaming...the hopelessness. Mothers curled around their young ones. Fathers putting on a brave front for their children. Old men and women standing up in silent protest. Girls, boys,  _ toddlers _ crying, huddled up into a ball and wailing for mom, dad, grandpa, auntie, anyone who would listen. Each life he took was another hanging guillotine added to the ever-growing blade of sins. Their voices and faces joined the flood Edward desperately dammed up every waking hour he lived. He had to. If he failed in doing that much, he would break. He would collapse under the torrential agony and loathing he aimed at himself.

Even now, as he looks into another finished glass ball, he feels it pressing down on him like the impending doom the sunrise will bring. He looks at his own reflection and sees every ounce of weariness he’s pretending he doesn’t feel. It’s a dangerous and precarious balancing act he continually upholds. It is important now more than ever that he not start sliding down the mountain he’s climbed up so far. When Vessman dies -and he knows the old man will be taken out somehow - every soldier will need some sort of reassuring light. He’s a kid in their eyes. Doubtlessly, they’ll be perturbed by his age and what he has accomplished. But he has to try. They all have families waiting for them. Maybe a pet or two, kids, mothers, fathers, perhaps even a lover. He….doesn’t have much to return to. If anything, going back to Amestris won’t change his situation at all. He’ll still have a battle to face, enemies to watch himself with, and a whole war to strategize around. It’s who fills those roles and the setting that will alter, nothing more.

The nervous and tense energy of a fight will never leave.

Maybe that will be the thing to break him one day in the future. Maybe not. It doesn’t matter right now. That entire situation has nothing to do with keeping men and women alive out in the desert wastelands of Ishval.

The glass orb is placed off to the side and with the rest of the cracked cannonballs. He shucks off the wavering he feels and instead raises his walls higher, further boarding up the dam holding back every morbid reminder. He can deal with it all later.

‘ _ Yeah, later,’  _ he muses. ‘ _ Alex would tell me my ‘later’ means ‘never’. He...dammit, he may have a point. _ ’ He starts another transmutation and quickly loses himself in the process while fighting to make it go by faster. Every moment wasted is one the enemy may be effectively utilizing.

He’s on the last few when Rohannes makes an appearance. Edward hears her before he sees her.

“Colonel Elric, sir!” He finishes his task before finally standing up, patting the sand off his uniform. When he looks up, he finds the red-headed woman in a salute, Rowe crowding in close to her side and looking around with wide eyes. Beside the both of them is Vessman. Startled, Edward quickly moves into his own salute.

“B-Brigadier General Vessman, sir!”

“At ease,” the older man replies, waving his hand. Edward lets the sloppy stance fall, Rohannes following his example.

“Sir, what are you doing here? This is the front lines.”

“I caught Lieutenant Rohannes taking our young captor this way and demanded to know what she was doing. Elric, if there is going to be negotiation, I will be the one presenting it.” He gave a knowing and sad smile. Why did the idea of Vessman going out there give Edward an icy chill?

“But, sir! They have guns themselves! They could easily shoot you down. Why not let me or another soldier go forth?”

“We both know why I cannot allow you to walk to your death like that, Elric,” Vessman softly replies. “Besides, do you really believe I would walk out into such a perilous battlefield? No, one of my own soldiers will be delivering the message with our flag of negotiations. I’m sure an officer of your standing would know which one.”

“It’s the gray dove flying over the symbol for mercury, right?” Ed hesitatingly answers.

“You are correct. Seeing as the Ishvalans were a part of Amestris, their major leaders should know what the flag means. If nothing else, they will understand it has an importance to be recognized.” Vessman turns to face the eastern horizon though keeps his sharp pale hazel eyes on Edward from the corners. “I have to admit, Colonel. I’m surprised you remember that. There has been a few mighty words from your teachers of how you ignored each of their classes.”

“What kind of words?” Edward shoots back with a raised brow, uncertainty and curiosity pulling at his lips.

“Mostly about how frustrated they were when they could do nothing as you handed in every assignment on time and perfectly correct. How you would pass all their tests with flying colors. How they could never find a reason to...what was the phrase? Ah, yes! To ‘put you in your place’.” Vessman flicks his eyes to the quickly brightening sky and Edward feels off-kilter at not being able to see the the old man’s expressions. “Now, I trust your instincts here, Colonel Elric, but for the time being, I will be taking charge. Should there be a fight, you have my full authorization to do what you see fit for this to end.”

Edward gives a nod and responds, “Yes sir.”

“Good. First Lieutenant Rohannes, I will be taking Rowe for now. I only hope he can leave here without needing to see any more bloodshed.” Rowe is gently sheparded into Vessman’s hold without a word. The fear Edward sees almost has him reaching out to reassure the young man, but in the end, he checks himself and keeps his stance. Behind his back, he clenches his hands together, fingertips painfully digging into his arms through the jacket and cloak. The words he has to offer fall dead on his tongue while he waits. Vessman is methodical and almost medically organized in how he handle the scene. Outside of asking for Edward’s input exactly three times, he has it completely in his control. It’s something Ed admires, that unwavering and calm tenacity. His death may literally be on the horizon and yet he’s going forward doing the most he can before that point comes. Maybe it’s age that allows him to accept his death so callously. Maybe it’s an understanding of how inevitable it is. Edward doesn’t know nor understand. Doesn’t think he ever will.

His mind is always on what to do next, to worry about, to plan around, to take into consideration. Focused as he is on succeeding, dying doesn’t even register as a blip on his radar. It’s an impossibility because he refuses to die anytime soon. Straightforward as that. He will not bleed out in some misery-inducing desert. He will not see Truth one last time in a forsaken war. He will not let his brother go mad at the hands of the Homunculi. Failure is not an option. Not in the past, not in the future, and certainly not in the present time.

The sun steadily rises into the awakening dawn before them, bright and pale as always. With it, a group of three people slowly march out into the desert, the silver-white flag bearing a grey dove and a metallic sign for the planet Mercury easy to spot. On Edward’s left, Grand stands tense and ready. To his right is Rohannes, in a similar position. Behind them sit the cannons, loaded and ready for fire any moment. He knows that somewhere further back stands the Flame Alchemist, gloves ready to send the now-freezing glass orbs flying, and the Freezing Alchemist, prepared to freeze the next set of rounds. All around are men and women armed and ready to run in after the cannons stop firing.

The flag is planted in the sand and from where Edward is, he can hear yelling. In his head he knows what exactly the words are and why it was there exactly they chose to stop. The Ishvalans were closer than Edward had anticipated. In theory, they were well within range of the far back cannons. The middle and front rows, not so much. Those were aimed closer.

When the Ishvalans are finally spotted, it had felt like hours had passed, instead of the scant ten minutes or so. Their group consists of four people, one almost running forward. Edward sees Rowe jerk towards them but is kept in place by Vessman. More tense silence passes with those waiting. Someone raises a gun and everyone around Edward seems to draw in a collective breath. The gun is lowered and the tension is allowed to slide down a small notch.

No one dares to talk.

Not even when Rowe is let go and both are turning around to walk back to their respective groups.

Not until an Ishvalan suddenly turns around, raises his gun, and-

Vessman was the first to fall. The silence after the shot was so deafening that the second had the same effect of breaking glass; resounding and final. Edward doesn’t even allow the perpetrators to reach their rushing group before he spoke.

Icy hot fury swathes his words in vitriol as he gravely commands, “Major Mustang, light all the cannons in row three.”

A snap was heard and the cannons threw their broken ammo out. At the same time, the first rays of sunlight peeked over the horizon and Edward looked up at the millions of flying glass shards.

He would forever remember how things so deadly shined like resplendent stars in the grey-blue skies of morning.

He would never forget how those ‘stars’ were the horrible harbingers of Ishvalan screams and their agony.

Of Rowe’s shrill screams.

“Reload!”

* * *

 

The worst part about the war is seeing the aftermath. It’s having to walk through the field of broken bodies and stained desert sands. It’s looking around, counting the dead, and being forced to see their lifeless faces, some stuck as the epitome of the pain they felt. It’s standing in the middle of it and being reminded by each gleaming shard sticking out like a grotesque crystal that you care the cause of this.

Edward pauses at another body with unseeing eyes, Alex right at his back again. The familiar presence is- calming. Reassuring. Anchoring. Any number of words could be said, but they would all amount to the same thing. Alex keeps him from breaking into pieces like the glass cannonballs. It’s a mutually beneficial relationship. Edward keeps Alex’s big heart from being crushed and Alex keeps Edward’s sanity in tact. Those basics are plain, cut, simple, and dry.

This all reminds him of Malavi.

He had stood there too as the gravity of what he had done finally fell onto his shoulders. At least then he had the security blanket of it being due to orders. That didn’t work here. It was he who had told Roy to fire those cannons. It was he who had designed and made the armaments. It was his idea. But he can’t let himself be burdened by that. He just- he can’t. It isn’t an option.

Edward has to remember that right now, the lives kept on their side are more important. And he has to temporarily forget the value of the lives lost. Even if it’s impossible, he has to try.

He moves on. Alex, his ever-present shadow, follows.

Stepping through the mess behind them are those counting the dead. Others are gathering those already accounted for and placing the disfigured bodies together in one pile. But none of them have found him.

Maybe it’s his head’s own way of punishing him. He has to forget, but the price to pay for that is something worse. Something greater. Equivalent exchange. Maybe not. Edward isn’t sure, never has been when it comes to the human mind. What he does know is he needs to find them. Has to see what he has done, what he has caused.

It’s these kinds of things that make him wonder if this is why he’s so broken.

Alex may keep him together but the fact is Edward is still broken. He’s a fractured, broken, glued back together glass cannon. The only reason he’s still running is because of necessity.

Then he’s sees it- them- him. Had Edward been looking from any other angle, he might have missed it.

His feet are beating across the sand before he’s conscious of it.

He hears Alex’s voice behind him but he doesn’t stop. Can’t stop. Never stop. Keep running. Keeping moving forw-

His feet and the sand trip him up only a few meters away but there’s no mistaking him.

There are so many bodies, but they look entirely too small, so much smaller. They were laid on their front, face hidden from view, a hand reaching towards another one trying to grab their’s. Like everyone else, they have hundreds of tiny shards of glass sticking out of their body but there is one exception.

Right in the middle, directly into the gut and through the spine is one of the largest shards Edward has yet to see. It’s like a miniature spear and it stuck up from the small body like a beacon, sunlight streaking through and painting small dots of light around him. It highlighted the puddle of slushy red sand.

The sight is almost gruesomely poetic.

Crystalline tears bead in the corners of his eyes, shifting his sight like the reflection off of murky waters. He blinks once- twice and he feels them track down his cheeks before joining on his chin and dripping. Once they start, they don’t stop. One after the other as he stares, helpless to tear his gaze away.

His hand begins to slowly reach forward without his conscious thought. Edward can barely think over the shock that holds him in a vice-like grip, body moving of its own accord. He leans forward, half-way to touching the corpse.

“Rowe-”

Then he can’t see anything.

He’s still awake. The cool breeze and tang of iron on the wind remind him of that. He’s still here and the arms around him cement that. What would normally take only a couple seconds, takes minutes for him to properly process that someone is holding him. Rough blue fabric against his cheeks, large frame almost covering him, shaking body trying to keep the both of them in one piece.

Alex.

He can’t think- can’t  _ speak _ . Rowe’s body still lingers even when he closes his eyes. There isn’t any need to focus; he can see every single detail with perfect clarity. It’s there, a giant gaping hole in his head and he knows that will never leave him too.

Distantly, he realizes he's in shock. Knows the disbelief and the distance his thoughts have from him are a product of that. It's why his buzzing hive of a mind has suddenly turned into a gridlocked street crossing. Nothing important is moving. The cars are frozen and sound is completely missing. He's stuck on Rowe, Rowe,  _ Rowe- _

A gasping sob breaks free from Edward’s chest.

He had promised.

_ He had promised. _

Before today, Edward had killed more than his fair share of Ishvalans. But they were nameless faces. People he didn't get to meet beyond hearing their voices. They haunt his dreams, but their deaths had never hit as hard on their own. He wonders why, still as detached from the thoughts as before. As another sob rips free, Edward finds his answer.

_ ‘Huh. It's different when it's someone you know. Even if remotely.’ _

* * *

 

The snap of his fingers echoes in his head.

‘ _ It’s him. _ ’

That’s the only thing Roy can think as he stands there while everything slows down for half a second. Almost directly in front of him stands the Fullmetal Alchemist, Colonel Edward Elric, prodigy alchemist. The hushed whispers he heard the day before the young man and his company arrived had revealed plenty but nothing is able to compare to this. Nothing.

It is- breathtaking- mesermizing- captivating- entrancing- he couldn’t give it a word. He’s enthralled. The sun’s dawning light is ablaze with the fiery colors of orange and red and it turns all the shards of glass into beacons of glittering light. They shine like gems, some reflecting every possible color of the rainbow as they turn. All the light frames Fullmetal’s body in a halo-like outline. The blonde tresses shine like gold, the wind from the blasts and the desert itself whip his hair about. The end of his uniform sways around his defiant and proud stance, partially held in place by one  gloved hand tucked in a pocket. His other hand is raised in the air. ‘Halt’.

Roy reminds himself of a young man flat on his rear, long blonde hair spilling over their shoulders, honeyed gold eyes looking up in cautious curiosity. Then he comes back to reality, another young man’s hand slicing downwards through the air. His fingers snap again and he fires the second row of cannons before their hand stops moving. Again, all he can think-

‘ _ It’s him. _ ’

And he’s both in awe and completely terrified.

He’s just a kid. A sixteen year old kid forced into a war. He shouldn’t be able to do anything of this magnitude and yet he’s broken the entire scale with these weapons. They explode and rain death from above like a starving raptor, dive-bombing like a hawk, and grabbing onto flesh like the claws of an eagle. Ferocious as a dragon.

A dragon that a sixteen year old boy made.

The Fullmetal Alchemist is a prodigy, someone everyone who keeps up on that side of the news knows. Seeing it in action is something else. Roy knows he’s only witnessing the product of that genius, knows he missed the actual moment that kid’s mind even began to plan these things out, but the results are just as breath-taking.

Somewhere else, Hughes is stuck watching out for the stragglers, aiming for any Ishvalans left behind. Far to the side of the canon’s range sits Hawkeye with a group of snipers, doing the same.

Without even thinking about it or crunching the numbers, Roy knows there will be no one left.

The third row goes off.

“Reload!” In comparison to what he normally hears, the young voice nearly makes Roy flinch. He hears it and can’t stop the flash of a young child looking him fearfully in the eye before he-. It’s a memory that is there then just as quickly gone again, shoved to the side so he can focus. That’s what he has to do here. Everything not currently relevant needs to be swept away. Little thoughts like that will only clutter his head and clutter leads to miscalculations, miscalculations lead to mistakes, and mistakes in his alchemy lead to needless death. Mistakes are never good.

Never.

So when the order to fire again comes, he’s ready and able to perform his duty. And it continues like that. In the blink of an eye, an hour has passed. An hour filled with screaming and yelling. An hour of...murder. The dust settles and that’s the word that rings in his head.

‘ _ This isn’t war. _ ’ The bodies are all piled on top of each other. Mounds in some places. Small hills in others. The sunlight reflects through all the glass pieces and shines with the rainbow. It’s hauntingly beautiful. It’s gruesomely macabre.

‘ _ This is murder _ .’

No one moves.

No one speaks.

No one blinks.

It is a sight that is impossible to look away from as it sears itself into the back of his skull. A picture Roy will never be able to forget. The sun has barely risen and it bleeds orange-red in the sky. Hidden beneath those colors is nothing but death. Human beings who, even after passing, are still bleeding. For the first time in nearly a week and a half, the urge to hurl curls in the back of his mouth, writhing. Bile rises and threatens to pour past his esophagus but he swallows it back down. Just like everything else that has tried to browbeat him. Every single memory of being out in the field of this war is carefully hidden down in a box. It won’t last forever; nothing ever does. But so long as it lasts until he’s out of here, he doesn’t care.

He wants to leave.

But most of all, he wishes this never had to happen.

He’s heard it was an Amestrian that started this entire conflict. By all rights, the Ishvalans should be given reparations for Amestris’ horrible actions. Thousands if not millions of people of are being killed -  _ murdered  _ when they have done no wrong. They’re only avenging what was lost. It is their only cause. A cause Amestris is eager to see cut down.

No. Not Amestris. Not everyone wants to see this happen. But there is someone who had seemed almost ecstatic when the opportunity for bloodshed came. Someone in power.

Fuhrer Bradley.

And last he heard, the man is planning to come for the final battle.

Wondering why that is makes Roy feel even sicker. Still, he doesn’t throw up.

The stillness and Roy’s reverie is broken by orders coming from Colonel Elric.

“Start gathering the bodies,” Roy hears the kid waver and god dammit- a teenager should never have to utter those words. He can hear their vulnerability and just like that, he's ready to either throw up again or punch something in building frustration and wrath. “If anyone comes across Brigadier General Vessman’s corpse or the Soldier that went with him, notify myself or one of the other Lieutenant Colonels. Major Armstrong, with me.”

It's not often where Roy finds himself wanting to protect someone, Hughes and Riza being only two of three or so. So the urge to follow after Colonel Elric surprises him. As does the tidal wave of concern that threatens to twist his features. He could spend the entire day parsing through the how’s and why’s to the way he’s feeling. He could internally debate and closely inspect until the day passed him by. He really could. But time keeps marching forward, always has and always will. Yes, he could sit and think but then this opportunity would pass him.

Opportunity? Since when did this become an opportunity?

Looking at the world around moving in slow motion, Roy decides that yes, this is an opportunity. For what he isn’t sure yet but a gut feeling has him entirely sure that whatever investment Edward Elric is, it will be entirely worth it. And that’s what the young man is in the long-run. An investment. Something to patiently watch and observe. At least once this war is over - if they survive it. Right now, Elric is a kid put into a war and forced to do the dirty work. From what he’s seeing, they also have a support in the form of a hulking shadow of muscles. Alex Armstrong. Son of the retired General Armstrong and brother to the up and coming Olivier Armstrong. From how close the large man walks behind the Colonel, Roy can tell there is a closeness there. But. There is a weariness in the lines of Major Armstrong’s form. He’s cracking just like the rest of them. It’s hard not to with the war hanging over everyone’s head.

Roy knows without a doubt that Armstrong’s support is slowly crumbling beneath the weight of expectations and memories.

What will happen to Elric when his one and only support finally falls?

If everyone is going to make it back home in one piece, they need the Colonel. Elric’s brilliant mind has already likely saved over a hundred lives from death and many more from injury. Where the Fullmetal Alchemist goes, half of their troops go as well.

That’s what he tells himself when he sees Armstrong shoot both himself and Major Grand a nod over his shoulder. It’s what Roy tells himself as he quickly begins to follow. He’s not curious at all. He’s not intrigued by the playful and cheeky demeanor he glimpsed in golden eyes. He’s not drawn in. Not. At. All. Thoughts like that are dangerous, especially when any one of them could lose their life regardless of rank.

Vessman was a prime example.

So he follows Armstrong and Elric, flanked by Grand. Of course his eyes wander. It was impossible not to and his gut curdles once again at the carnage. So many slack and frozen faces. Nothing but pain, agony, and  _ fear _ . Ice settles in his stomach but it does nothing to suffocate the churning heat.

It’s- disarmingly silent. Even with the men and women moving far behind them, it feels too quiet. The only one moving this far in the sea of bodies is the four of them. It’s eerie. The more the sun rises, the more it illuminates the dead. Each minute adds another detail to the surrounding horrifying painting.

The sudden sound of rushing footsteps is enough to panic Roy and he looks up. Something cold grips his chest when he sees Elric rushing off to the side. His features pinch in muted fear - brows furrow, eyes widen, and lips purse as he pursues his commanding officer. Grand and Armstrong easily keep pace with the surprisingly fast young man. Their large strides eat up the distance effortlessly. He can’t see their faces, but he knows they share the same looks of fear.

‘ _ He’s just a teenager. _ ’

No one knows what’s going to finally break him.

And it’s that fear that has all three of them chasing after until-

‘ _ Oh no… _ ’

A little Ishvalan’s body is revealed the moment Elric falls to his hands and knees. Roy sees the glass speartips peeking out from the middle of the boy’s back, sees the blood soaking the sand. He’s forced back into another memory except this time it’s a child going to point a gun at Roy. The memory is shaken away just in time to see Edward begin to reach for the body. Icy dread pours over him and he takes a step forward-

Armstrong is already gathering Elric into his arms, shaking as he hides the young man’s face in his shoulder.

Blank gold eyes peer from over the Major’s shoulder, unseeing of anything in front of them. Their hair is an absolute mess, eyes puffy and red, and what Roy can see of his cheeks are dirty outside of two fresh tear tracks. He knows that haunted look. Sees it after every battle in countless soldiers - in himself when he looks in the mirror. But it’s different. It’s different because that’s not a man, that’s a teenager, practically a child. Those round eyes do not belong to a killer. Those tears aren’t ones of strength. They belong to someone who’s been forced to grow up and play a role that’s too big for them.

Each sob he hears breaks something in Roy.

Each heaving breath fills him with an anguished despair.

He looks down, gritting his teeth, furious. His dark eyes burn and he clenches his hands, fists tense. He wants to hit something. Looking back over, he prefers it was the person responsible for this scene. He wants to destroy the person who believed it was smart to send out someone so young.

Elric meets his eyes. It shouldn’t surprise Roy. He’s there, isn’t he? He’s standing next to Grand and it’s only the four of them out this far into the wreckage. Fresh tears are falling, surging one after the other. His gloved hands hold onto the back of Armstrong’s uniform like a lifeline. Elric looks so...small. Hurt. Defenseless. It’s an image he knows is wrong.

Every harsh line of anger softens in sorrow. Roy’s hands hang loose by his sides, his entire body slumps. His dark eyes look between Elric’s golden ones until the young man buries his face in Armstrong’s uniform.

‘ _ This never should’ve happened _ .’

Conviction settles in that thought, something steady and firm, unyielding.

Something like a seed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh, I ain't got no preview for the next chapter (haven't started it yet) but i realized something semi-important. I never gave you all my tumblr.
> 
> https://random-hogwash.tumblr.com/
> 
> Shoot me an ask if you really want to but don't blame me for the random stuff you find on my 'blog'. I literally reblog anything that catches my interest, hence the name Random Hogwash because it's gonna look like that to anyone who isn't me.
> 
> WC: 5,458


	7. (Simulacrum)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sim·u·la·crum  
> -noun  
> an unsatisfactory imitation or substitute.
> 
> Can you see the difference before it's too late?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A million thanks to supersomo for being a beta reader! You're amazing.

_1906 - En Route Dublith_

After Rush Valley, everything started to look the same. The dry and caked ground was no less dull than before. The sky was still blue. Trees were barely present. And the train was still overly quiet.

Edward glanced from his seat opposite from Major Armstrong. The giant man seemed to barely fit in his clothes much less the damned seat. Normally, the seams wouldn’t pull like that but because this was a ‘mission’ meant to be low level, the uniform was deemed necessary. Instead of the loose armada of blue fabric laying over Edward’s and Armstrong’s bodies, they were free to wear whatever they pleased. Apparently, Armstrong’s first choice was a….brown suit. If it could be called a suit.

Turning his eyes back to the window (read: boring landscape), he decided no. It couldn’t be. It was a good effort if the quality was anything to go by. Maybe they were going with a mix of casual and formal?

Edward didn’t do formal so he couldn’t really be the judge of that.

His own clothes were- well, weren’t outlandish as he would like but they were definitely casual. Black jeans, boots, and tanktop with a dark grey overcoat. His gloves were still firmly in place. Not even Rush Valley could get him to peel them off. His hair was set back in its usual braid.

Casual clothes.

His posture on the other hand…

He slouched in his seat. No other way to put it. Instead of sitting firmly on his ass, his back almost curled. With his right leg over his left, it made the perfect place to prop his elbow. His right hand held up his cheek, the fingers of his left beating a steady but agitated rhythm against his foot. He could use the Major as a distraction all he wanted but it didn’t change that they were heading towards Dublith on some pathetic excuse of a mission. How was the military even involved in this one?

The Furher had to be involved in this somehow. After all, his personal set of orders came from the bastard himself. But still...this farce was practically see through. No, scratch that. It _was_. Even Armstrong had seemed uncertain about this assignment. He’s only been in the military for a year and he could see the discrepancies. It wasn’t going to take an idiot to see it them either. But therein layed the heart of it.

How was it connected to the Furher? To Edward’s orders?

“Are you sure this is our actual mission?”

The unexpected suddenness of the statement jarred Edward and he stared somewhat stupidly at Armstrong. He owlishly blinked at him, mind somehow failing to comprehend the change in topics. Or was it the change from mental to vocal?

Edward nodded once his mind caught up.

“Doesn’t sound like mission material, does it?”

Armstrong hummed and leaned back, arms loosely crossed in front of him. “It does seem a bit far-fetched, I’ll admit.”

Edward snorted, eyes involuntarily closing with the action. ‘Far-fetched’.

“It barely passes as something in the military’s jurisdiction.”

Another hum. Edward watched as Armstrong looked up at the ceiling of the train and couldn’t help but wonder what they were thinking. In the few times he’s worked the with Strong Arm Alchemist in the past, he’s been surprised.

Alex tended to act superfluous. His path of thinking was decidedly different from that. Still on the skill with a greenhorn but not expected when taking his personality into account and if Edward was someone ‘better’, he would wait until Armstrong was finished. But he’s never done well with the whole patience-is-key thing.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“How should I put this,” Alex responded. His silence was contemplative and Edward was eager to hear what the Major had to say. “The General who runs the South City Command has a bad...habit, if you will. When my father was a General as well, he would find himself steeped in a pile of ‘problems’ South City had.”

“So General What’s His Face doesn’t like pulling his share of the work,” Edward flatly returned. Color him unimpressed.

Alex looked back at Edward with a small smile. “Anything Dublith and further north he often complains is too far to waste his resources when there are the constant minor conflicts on the Amestris-Aerugo borders.”

“And it must be _impossible_ for him to send an Alchemist because of these ‘skirmishes’,” Edward sarcastically shot back with a roll of his eyes. “Sounds like a load of shit to me.”

“Now, now. Save the satire for when you can get away with it.” And he winked. Fucking hell- Edward almost laughed. Cheeky. He shot a large grin right back.

“You know me, I’ve already planned exactly when I’ll drop that bomb.”

All that got was a slight roll of Alex’s eyes. “Don’t remind me. But I digress. That still doesn’t explain the oddity of this farce.”

Edward shrugged and leaned back, arms laid out along the top of the bench seat. “I don’t question it often. Leads to less trouble.”

“That is a lie and we both know that, Fullmetal.” Edward remembers that flat look from about a month ago - right before he nearly brought an entire roof down on their heads. A look that quickly turned to narrowed scrutiny. Edward met the look without an ounce of hesitation and waited. The time between then and Alex’s small hum was charged. “I think I understand.”

The charged feeling lessened under Ed’s curiosity but didn’t leave entirely.

“Meaning?”

Alex tapped his shoulder twice then splayed four fingers just above his heart then crossed his arms again.

Four finger, four stars.

Fuhrer Bradley.

“The only other time you had nothing to say on the matter was when your orders came from him. Or so went the rumor.”

Edward slowly blinked, relaxed with his arms out at either side of him still. He discreetly glanced over his shoulder before peaking around Alex. He looked back at Alex. His blue eyes looked at Edward with nothing but neutral curiosity.

‘ _Should I tell him?’_

So simple yet such a loaded question.

No one knows Edward’s predicament. Not another soul. Oh, he knew there were rumors. But most of them were either labelled too unethical to be real or just good gossip stories without any substance. There were a few people who were clever enough to begin sifting through the muck to get a couple gems of truth but never enough to see the full picture.

A sigh and he let his head fall back to stare at the ceiling much like Alex had not too long ago. Memories of how many times Armstrong had saved his life and him bounding his right foot. How Armstrong covered up that it was Edward’s fault had him feeling slightly guilty. He looked down his nose at Alex again without moving his head. Alex was…. He was hesitant to label it as anything but it almost looked like concern.

The big man was staring down at the ground, elbows on his knees and posture ‘droopy’. There was an air of fear, worry, and something like shame clouding him. And that made Edward’s decision for him.

You can’t fake body language like that.

“I don’t question it because I have more on the line than a reprimand if I don’t see it through.”

Alex glanced up and if possible, he slumped even further, shoulders dropping.

“So it’s true then,” Alex murmured. He wouldn’t meet Edward’s eyes so Edward looked back up at the ceiling. “You’ve been th-”

The train’s whistle interrupted Alex and Edward quickly looked out the window. Not seeing anything, he moved closer, sitting up fully to try and see ahead of the train.

“We’re here,” he stated right before the train began to slow down. Edward turned his head towards Alex and tried to convey a single message through that look.

‘Don’t make me regret trusting you.’

Whether Alex received that exact message or not, the intent seemed to get across all the same as Alex shortly nodded back.

Not another word was said.

* * *

 

Three days later and Edward was ready to tear his own hair out.

The leads they had all lead to dead ends. One brought them to a pharmacy, another to some little old lady, and some other to the one foster house in the entire damned town. Their mission was slowly coming to look like a false lead, both their’s and Edward’s classified one. The mission that didn’t legally exist.

‘ _Find Greed_ ,’ he had ordered. Find Greed, one of the other Homunculi. Greed with his impenetrable shield and his insatiable need for everything. Greed, who had abandoned his creator and the rest of the ugly fuckers who served the bastard. Greed. He had something to do with the assignment both Edward and Armstrong were tasked with but Edward was still stumped with how.

“Just thinking about it _pisses me off_!!!” Ed fell back onto the bed like a puppet with its strings suddenly cut. On the other bed sat Armstrong. The man gave a sigh and Edward was starting to tell them apart, which kind of sigh meant what. That one sounded either like exasperation or exhaustion. Could easily be both as far as Ed knew. He stared sullenly at the ceiling after that, stewing in his own frustration.

“Please try to contain yourself, young Elric,” Armstrong murmured. “This is an inn and we have neighbors.”

His first reaction was to bite back a scathing remark about being talked to like that. He wasn’t just a kid. Except he was. Freshly turned fourteen three and a half months ago. To everyone else, he was some random shouty kid who couldn’t keep his temper in check. The glare he wanted to point towards Armstrong was instead sent to the ceiling before he clicked his tongue and rolled on his side. Facing away from Armstrong allowed him to look out the window.

This side of the inn faced the main road, situated just right and allowed him to look all the way down it. From this vantage point, it was easy to see the far rolling hills, the inky night sky. Just taking in the scenery beyond the window had him incrementally relaxing. His body slowly sunk into the mattress and he laid his head down. He didn’t think, only flicked his eyes to and fro. At the post office the Amestrian flag sluggishly waved. Down a few more houses stood a small sized barn with a slowly twisting weathervane. The home across from that had what looked like an overflowing garden with all sorts of flowers sedately fluttering. Everything that was able to move was doing just that. The morning had brought in a blustering wind but that had slowed down as the day went on. Now it was nothing more than a breeze.

Everything was moving.

...Why did that put him off?

Edward blinked a couple times and sat up, hands flat on the bed. There was something wrong about this scene, something he couldn’t pinpoint. If he wasn’t so sure of his instincts, he would pass it off as paranoia. He’s been watched on a mission before by Envy but this felt...different. There was something out there, something with eyes on this room. On him.

Armstrong was somewhere behind him, probably pulling out the book he’d been reading the other two nights they’ve stayed. The eyes Edward felt didn’t belong to him. With nothing more than a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and a raggedy black sleeveless shirt, he felt bare. Vulnerable. Unprotected. Which were both stupid thoughts. With or without everything else he would just be as unprotected. Still, it nagged at him.

He stood up and walked over to the window, glad the only light they had on was a weak lamp in between the two beds. Anything brighter would’ve made all the harder for him to see outside. To look and observe.

His hands rested on the windowsill, the white curtains on either side still. The wood felt rough beneath his flesh hand, old and worn in by multiple people. The glass reflected that. It warped some of the images, obviously made before the process of making glass was nearly perfected. While it would make it hard to look in some areas, it would work for now.

Edward kept looking, kept narrowing down where he felt those pair of eyes. His own were intensely focused on the area outside, brows furrowed and frowning. His bottom lip was caught between his teeth, unknowingly nibbling on it as he searched. He was getting closer, he could feel it. First was the ground. He swept that part clearly, looking for anything out of place but nothing was revealed. Then the trees and walls. Still nothing. The roofs-

Bright human eyes stared at him from three houses down. Edward slowly sucked in a deep breath, body tensing.

He stared back.

And just like that, it was gone.

His hands gripped the ledge of the window fiercely. What was that? It had crawled over the roof like some sort of lizard or gecko. It even had a tail. But those eyes - those were distinctly human. And the way it was able to stick to the roof without seemingly gripping a thing. It had fucking climbed down the wall, sticking to it. There wasn’t much on it for clothing. In fact, it had looked as if the only thing it wore was some sort of cloak. There wasn’t anything natural that looked or moved like that creature.

Gold eyes widened as that word ‘natural’ clicked a puzzle piece into place and dammit- he was gonna be sick-

“Is everything alright?”

Edward barely avoided making a sound. Every hair on his body stood on end. Chills swept through him. His stomach was churning and his heartbeat was beating faster and faster. Blood rushed through his ears. He stood tall, upper body weight leant against his hands on the window sill. His hair was loose and laid over his front and back like fine silk. Armstrong’s hand on his shoulder felt too- ….It didn’t help him feel centered at all like the other man thought it was. Or reassuring.

He opened his mouth to answer but fumbled.

He couldn’t tell Armstrong what he just saw. They had a mission but that _thing_ was part of his own objective, Edward knew it.

“Just thinking,” he eventually responded. “About…” Edward trailed off, staring down where he held onto the windowsill. His loose hairs washed down either side of his face and framed his intense eyes. He could only be grateful that Armstrong couldn’t see his features. There wasn’t a thing he was feeling that he would be able to hide right then.

Armstrong hummed but otherwise kept his silence. It was almost- oppressive but at the same time relaxing, if that made any sense. It didn’t to Edward but whatever, that’s what it was. Oppressive in the fact that Armstrong was a big guy. Having him tower over Edward like that was almost unnerving if he hadn’t already been used to Sid’s hulking frame from years ago. The feeling still lingered. But it was also relaxing because it was….familiar? Which, okay, he could see but still pretty damn odd. All of that kept him- it helped him ground himself, stabilize his head and think. It didn’t take long to make his decision and after a few moments, he stood upright, glaring out the window where that creature had disappeared, fists at his side.

“I’m going for a walk.”

Edward heard Armstrong take a quick breath in.

“At this time of night?” he asked, sounding surprised and dubious.

“I need to clear my head,” Edward replied, ducking out from beneath Armstrong’s hand. “And I’m not going to be able to do that in this damn room. So yeah, I’m going for a walk at this time of night.”

“Let’s go together then-”

Edward quickly turned on his heel, already halfway across the room and levelled the coldest glare he possibly could. He was a genius but he was also a) equal rank to Armstrong and b) fourteen. There was little chance of it working how he wanted it to. Regardless, Armstrong looked spooked by it, enough to stop and openly stare, eyes widened a fraction.

“Alone.”

Armstrong could stop him. He was big enough, tall enough, strong enough. He could easily walk up, lock the door, keep Edward stuck in the room, and say ‘no’. There was that possibility. And as they stared each other down, Edward thought the man may just attempt to do that but Armstrong’s concession came in the form of a slow dip of his head. Without another word, Edward turned and grabbed his coat, slipped it and his boots on, and left their shared inn room.

The need to clear his head had been a complete lie. His head had been cleared enough back in the dingy little room on the third floor of that inn. No, what he needed to do was find them, the one who had been on the roof, who had been _looking right at him from three houses down_. It was more than just the stupid mission Wrath had given him. He needed to find them, needed to see, to know for himself.

‘ _It could be a trap_ ,’ his conscience tried to weakly reason.

‘ _Fuck it being a trap,_ ’ he vehemently snarled. ‘ _I will take anything I can if it means helping Al. I don’t care what this ‘Greed’ can do, I_ will _find him and I_ will _make an ally out of him - somehow. He has chimeras on his side -_ human _chimeras that have avoided detection this long. I want to know how. And if I can, I want to use their help too._ ’

Anything for Al.

He jogged to where he saw the chimera disappear, turning around in circles to try and find a clue. There had to be something. Some sort of tell or- or evidence. He just wasn’t looking close enough. Where. Where would it be? He had already seen from the inn that there was nothing on the roof. Walking showed nothing on the wall, stretch of ground, or cobbled trail. So where-

A cawing croak had him jumping and whirling to find the source.

There- in the tree. A crow. No...not a crow. A raven. But why was a raven here? He stared at it, so confused as to why it was there when everything told him it didn’t belong. Something niggled in the back of his head but before he could try and reach for it, movement from the corner of his eye had him forgetting it and searching.

In the shadows of the nearby alley stood a small, bald man with...with faint scales on his face in odd patches. His nose was long, his beady eyes underscored by dark bags, and his smile crooked. His clothes were nothing more than rags wrapped around his thing frame, knobby elbows, knees, and all. From behind him, unseen before then, stepped out a taller man. Dark hair on a rectangular head, flat nose, dark eyes, and his lips a grim line. His clothes deftly reminded Ed of some of the dojos he had seen in the past and how the people inside dressed.

‘ _Who-?_ ’ That train of thought was derailed as he noticed the sheathed sword they held close to their side, hand on the handle. Edward slowly shifted his stance to something more defensive, feet set apart wider, balled hands raising up. They opened their mouth and he beat them to the punch.

“I want to talk to Greed.”

It was obvious they weren’t expecting that in the way the bald man hesitantly sent a pleading and uncertain look. One the taller man met with a steady glance that was quickly returned to Edward. A tense moment of silence filled the space between the three of them. Edward waited with bated breath. Would he be attacked? Would he be led to where he wanted to go? Or would this turn out some other way?

The tall man opened his mouth-

“CRAW!” Edward was jolted from the scene and he looked up to find the source even as the man spoke.

It was another raven, sat on top the high wall to Ed’s right.

“Good, that saves us some time,” they said to Edward. When he looked back, they were both already turned around and sedately walking. The taller one waved a hand over his shoulder, looking back for a moment. “This way.”

He took a step forward but paused, looking back up at the raven. The flap of wings heralded the coming of a second big black bird lighting down next to the first. Both looked at him with black eyes, silent and still, stone-still. Eerily still. He blinked- and they were gone. Vanished.

“This way,” he heard repeated and his feet moved him along without his conscious thought. For some reason, that seemed more ‘correct’ than the appearance and disappearance of the two ravens.

They walked for some time, enough for the moon to rise high in the sky. Halfway between growing from a crescent to the first quarter, it shone minimal light around Ed’s surroundings, making it hard to pinpoint familiar landmarks. Some signs he thought he recognized but others he had never seen in his life with writing that could barely even be considered Amestrian. He peered closer at them, eyes narrowed. What even was-

“We’re here.”

He nearly bumped into the taller man’s back, their gruff voice bringing him back in time to avoid it by stopping. Edward looked around them and saw a dark wooden door. Above it was a cloth overhang with that same strange writing.

“Devil’s Nest,” he heard himself say despite not being able to tell what those symbols meant.

“Your man is right inside, Edward Elric.” He wasn’t surprised they knew his name. It was one of the homunculi; of course they would know. He turned his head just enough to look at them from the corner of his eyes, coming to stand at their side.

“What about you two.”

“You go in first. Boss man’s orders.”

Meaning they would be walking in behind him. He didn’t like the thought of that. These two were still his enemies. He had no idea if they would kill him as he walked, stab him through the chest. But it was what it was and he stepped forward. He opened the door and stepped through, hearing two sets of footsteps following him in. Edward went down a small set of stairs and into a bar hazy with cigarette smoke. All kinds of people were strewn about. There were four on the lounge, two playing pool, three at the bar, and there in the back of the room sat one man flanked by two women and surrounded by a group of five more. No one glanced his way as he passed them by. No one stopped them or even paid them a second of attention and Edward easily made it in front of the one man. No, not a man.

Jet black hair was gelled back into gentle spikes. Pale skin peeked from beneath the black clothes, the white ruffle on his sleeveless jacket brushed the underside of his chin. He had one ankle crossed over the opposite knee and he had an arm around each woman seated at his sides. Edward knew that behind those circular shades of his, he was looking right at Ed with purple eyes and slitted pupils like a cat.

Greed the Homunculus.

“Ah, Edward Elric!” Greed greeted with a sharp-toothed smile, voice airy and light. “How very gracious of you to bless us with your presence. About damn time too, kid.”

Edward stayed silent and waited as Greed languidly stood up in one fluid motion. His grin turned shady and he walked forward with confidence. He raised a hand and swirled his pointer finger next to his head, all the while approaching Edward.

“I won’t waste both of our times with introductions - I’m sure my dear _brother_ Wrath has given you your orders. But here’s the thing, Ed.” Greed bent at the waist, one hand on his hip. He pointed at Edward’s face with the other hand, pointer finger only an inch or so from Edward’s nose. The blond paid it no mind and instead glared right at Greed. “You have something I want. Specifically speaking, immortality.”

Ed’s eyes widened because what was Greed talking about? Immortality was a pipe dream of little kids imagining what could be done with alchemy before reality finally slapped them across the face. It was the stuff of fairy tales, of myths and legends. Something like that wasn’t real. It definitely wasn’t something Ed knew about.

“Rumor has it that you performed human transmutation,” Greed continued on. He stood back and was slowly sidling around Edward, moving like flowing water, smooth and continuous. It reminded Edward of a snake. “Rumor also has it that you transferred your brother’s soul into a suit armor. That he didn’t require sleep or food to continue functioning. That he was immortal in body, mind, and soul.”

Edward felt a hand smooth over his right shoulder, another one following suit on his left. The hands lightly gripped him. When Greed next spoke, his voice was right next to Edward’s left ear, soft and lilting.

“I’ll give you anything you want so long as I get my immortality.” Edward didn’t flinch, didn’t move. He kept his gaze straight ahead, looking right through the group in front of him. “Whatever’s equivalent.”

“My brother. I need him to do what you’re asking of me.”

Greed’s breath caught in his throat. Once again, silence reigned only this time it felt much, much heavier. There was a weight to Edward’s words that in some far off sense he was aware of. Greed had asked what he wanted in exchange for that. Edward’s brother was quite the task to achieve.

The throaty chuckle at Ed’s ear drew away, the hands on his shoulders sliding off the same way they had come. Greed came around full circle and Ed watched him stride forward, watching the back of his head.

“CRAW!” Edward jumped and looked about him. All around sat raven after raven, beady black eyes watching him.

Something was wrong. This wasn’t right. There weren’t supposed to be ravens here and he wasn’t sure how he knew that. There had to be at least twenty-five of them though it was likely there were more than that. And they just sat there, staring at him.

“I think we can make a deal,” Greed said and Edward quickly turned back to him. Gone was Greed’s lackey’s and the two women. Gone was everyone else in the bar outside of the both of them. “I’ll help you get your brother back. We’ll be partners.”

Edward opened his mouth to speak.

“CRAW!” Another raven croaked and he looked around him again. There were more crowding around the bar. He quickly looked back to Greed, cold dread running through his veins, clouding in his chest. The Homunculus had a head extended towards Ed with a self-satisfied grin on his lips.

“We have a deal, Fullmetal Alchemist.” Edward looked at the hand. Looked at the ravens. He reached forward, just about to clasp their hands together when-

When Greed suddenly retracted his hand.

That wasn’t right.

“Except you’re missing something, Little Alchemist.” That voice didn’t belong to Greed but it was Greed’s face, Greed’s body. Edward’s stomach rolled in recognition. The ravens around him began to croak in a haunting chorus. “And I think you know what that is.”

The ravens took flight and suddenly Edward wasn’t in the bar.

This wasn’t right! Greed was supposed to propose the deal but Alex was supposed to interrupt. He was supposed to come running in, gauntlets equipped, prepared to face hell. Dolcetto was supposed to start barking like the dog he had been mixed with. Edward was supposed to scream like a little girl in fright, fourteen-year-old voice cracking. That’s how the Dog Incident went. This wasn’t right! This wasn’t-

Ravens started peeling from Greed’s body, leaving behind a white blankness in the shape of a infamously familiar being from Edward’s memories. Tears beaded in Edward’s eyes. Golden hair wildly waved in the air. Raven’s flew around them like a tornado or a hurricane with himself and Truth stuck in the eye.

This wasn’t supposed to go like this. Truth wasn’t supposed to be here. Edward looked down at himself, expecting another part of his body to spiral away into nothing, into the Gate. But he was still in one piece and the Gate was nowhere in sight.

“You know exactly what that is.”

Light was leached away, colors dampened and greyed out. Edward looked at Truth and found them staring at him with an arm upwards, pointed above them. When Edward looked, his breath left him in awe.

Above was the full red moon of a lunar eclipse, vivid but lacking brightness. It greyed out everything around him and darkened the ravens to nothing but inky shadows seamlessly flowing into each other before fading to nothing in an even circle around the moon. Slowly, like a puppet on a string, Edward raised his right arm up, hand splayed out and grasping towards the moon. Then something even stranger happened. The moon moved- and shrunk. It came closer and closer to his outstretched hand. He watched in a trance as it floated down towards him, growing brighter and brighter, smaller and smaller until it was nothing but an oval ruby. Neon red light spilled from it and was all Edward saw.

A Philospher’s Stone.

He reached further towards it, fingertips so close he swore he could feel some sort of heat from the stone. Some bit of intelligence - a swarm of it. His gold eyes were trained on it, waiting to touch it with a hypnotized reverence. So close. Just a bit more. Just. A bit. More-

Blinding light exploded just before he could make contact and everything faded to darkness.

“Don’t disappoint me _now_ , Edward Elric.”

And Edward woke up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My notes/correspondences for this chapter:  
> Raven - Symbolic of prophecy and Apollo, messages, bad luck  
> Blood - Life, mortality, Philosopher’s Stone(?)  
> Waxing Crescent - Intention  
> First Quarter - decision making  
> Full - Sealing of intention
> 
> WC: 5,068
> 
> Sorry for the wait! I've had some little plot bunnies pop into my head for other stuff that I've been working on.
> 
> Also!! If you think I'm missing any tags, don't hesitate to send a suggestion my way. I'm horrible at tagging things.
> 
> As always, lemme know what you think! I like hearing your thoughts, your theories, and ideas. Things you'd want to see. I wanna hear 'em all. You guys keep me and my love for this fic going.
> 
> BY THE WAY. This chapter was heavily influenced by a song I found by Sam Tinnesz called Far From Home (The Raven). I highly suggest taking a listen because I don't know about you but I feel like this would relate a lot to Edward in this fic! Here's the link to the official Audio
> 
> https://youtu.be/8y4Sz8_Oq1M


	8. Biding Tidings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are going awry, deviating from the norm Edward had established with Greed long ago - and in the worst way possible

Somewhere on the edge of the desert, a formidable platoon of soldiers are mobilizing from a freshly arrived train. Outside is loud with the rushed commotion, orders and warnings constantly being called out. Despite the superficial chaos, everything and everyone move in a fluid fashion. If they have to compare the sight, it’s reminiscent of a colony of ants. It is in how they march about, move cargo, unload and reload military trucks and vans, coordinate the placement of ammunitions and rations. All in the name of the one commanding them.

They watch from the blessedly cool interior of their cabin, waiting. Already the seventeen other platoons are ready to leave. The only one left is the one they will be riding with.

“Lieutenant Colonel.” They turn their gaze to the man standing at attention just outside their own compartment, guarding them - however unnecessary it is. Appearances must be kept regardless.

How they loathe it.

The Lt. Col. quickly salutes them with a sharp, “Sir!”

“How much longer until we will be ready to deploy.”

“Approximately forty-five minutes, sir.”

He keeps his eyes up and off of them. It’s pleasing seeing those beneath them right where they belong and the blind obedience helps ease some of the fury.

“And how long will the drive last.”

“With proper rest and time to eat, three days.” Not good enough. Their brows furrow.

“Make it two, Lieutenant Colonel,” they order, turning their back on them. They observe the goings outside even as the soldier responds, stuttering like a cricket.

“S-Sir?”

“Time is of the utmost importance. Every minute spent is another advantage for the Ishvalans, another life lost. We must give them as little as possible.”

“But the men need to eat a-and to rest-” The ant is quickly cut short by the icy glare shot his way over their shoulder.

“Then we eat on the way and the men sleep during the drive,” they firmly command. “There are lives on the line Lieutenant. Make the drive in two day’s time, am I clear?”

He straightens out the salute that had slipped during their outburst, gulping back his fear with a pale face.

“Yes, Fuhrer Bradley, sir.”

“Good. Make sure the proper arrangements are made. Dismissed.”

“Sir!”

The anger is back and stronger. How dare any human question his orders. His only bounty out of the interaction is seeing the fear in their eyes. They beat a hasty retreat and he can’t help but huff in the privacy of his mind. It’s good they left. Good they fear him. Fear his namesake.

Wrath clenches the head of his cane as hard as he dares, eye looking back out the window. Insects. Every single one of them. The Promise Day is far off but everything is on course as it should be. Sloth still digs away, Lust and Gluttony keep searching, Pride keeps his watch, Envy continues to supply Wrath necessary information, and Greed… An uncertainty but something that will be dealt with in time.

So close to their goal yet so frustratingly far.

“Soon, Father.”

The words whisper through the air, never reaching the compartment door before dissipating. With their absence, Wrath notices something else. Something...watching.

He tenses and slowly scans his surroundings with the facade of curious perusal. Seeing nothing at all, he reaches for his eyepatch. Just as his fingers touch the old leather, the feeling is gone. Still he keeps waiting. That hadn’t been any of his ‘siblings’ and they would never dare to eavesdrop. Who had the gall- footsteps begin approaching, those sounding of a familiar weight and gait. Seems some insects can and will actually listen.

He pastes on a smile, something grim but full of determination. ‘-Lives are on the line-’. He couldn't care less about those who are insignificant to him. But again, appearances.

“Time to go!”

Bradley stands and prepares to disembark.

_ Elsewhere… _

_ “Don’t disappoint me now, Edward Elric.” _

_ “Soon, Father.” _

Edward wakes with…

-A chill creeping down his spine.

-Ice in his beating, fluttering heart.

-An image of a red stone burnt into the backs of his eyelids.

-A yell.

He wakes with two eerily familiar voices in his ears overlapping each other but already fading from memory. His arms wave, the momentum carrying him into sitting up and his hands slapping against the starched sheet covering him. They’re quickly clenching the fabric as Ed stares at the foot of the cot unseeingly. All he can hear is the blood rushing past his ears. He feels cold and all too hot. A breeze brushes past, attempting to dry his skin. Ed shivers and looks down. No shirt. Not even a tank top. The only thing that greets him is the glimmer of his automail. A fleeting thought to properly clean both his arm and leg soon ‘ _ or else _ ’ crosses his mind but it’s gone quick as it came. As his attention expands past the bed, Ed hears the shifting of cloth.

His first thought is  _ ‘I’ve been captured.’ _ His hands come up, an array already formed in his head to use the metal in the bed as a shield or weapon but stops short at what he sees.

Wide panicked black eyes. Greasy dark hair. Skin pale, tan, and sometimes sunburnt. Fear. A blue uniform. Amestrian. Soldier. They sit with their arms crossed in a chair but how tightly they hold themselves betrays their alarm, their readiness to defend themself. Ed’s gaze goes sightless as he focuses on the sounds outside of the tent- at least he thinks it’s a tent. The reassuring noise of other men and women moving about, preparing does well in soothing the majority of Ed’s terror. He’s still at the camp.

_ ‘I’m safe.’ _

Then he’s turning his attention back onto the person in front of him and he realizes who is it sitting in that chair. His thoughts settle for a happy medium of,  _ ‘I’m probably safe.’ _

“Roy,” Ed haltingly states. He squints at the other alchemist, memories of yesterday ( _ ‘Today?’ _ ) slowly being recovered. “Roy Mustang, Flame Alchemist.” Here he pauses and finally takes a look around.

The tent he’s inside of and the cot he lays in are unfamiliar. It’s not the medical tent - his is the only bed. It’s too large to be the one he shares with Alex. Then this must be-

“We’re in your tent, sir,” Mustang murmurs as he stands up. Ed glances at them from the corner of his eyes before returning to his examination of his surroundings. He knows this has to be the tent Vessman had assigned him before-...before. It has a desk in the back with a lamp perched on the corner. It looks almost exactly as Vessman’s own tent had except his desk was in the center instead of being against the back like Ed’s own. It stands in opposition to the door like his own office back in Central. On top are a familiar set of manila folders. The tent itself is generously spacious and left plenty of standing room even with the desk and cot. “Lt. Col. Armstrong thought it would be best to bring you here in order to recuperate away from prying eyes and ears.”

It brings Ed’s attention back to the man at his bedside even as he connects the dots Mustang unknowingly laid out. Alex must have meant Jardon and Fischer when he gave those orders to Mustang. Looking down at his lap, Ed would bet just about anything that his friend is doing damage control even as Ed breathes sitting in his cot.

“I’m going to assume he’s in conference with Jardon and Fischer considering the-...the move we all pulled off.” He looks back up, pinning Mustang into that chair with his eyes as best he can. He knows he’s not much (just a kid) but his eyes have always been said to be piercing. Ed has never seen it that way yet Alex has always insisted. Considering Mustang tenses even further, Ed may have to concede something to the absent man.

Mustang nods.

“Alex Armstrong is indeed in conference with the other Lt. Colonels in the central tent. While you were indisposed, Fischer and Jardon sought to fill the position your promotion left behind. Armstrong-”

“-Was given the spot,” Ed interrupts, giving Mustang a flat look. He continues on, sitting forward and propping an elbow on a raised knee, cheek on the closed fist. The young alchemist waves his hand and adopts a bored tone as he responds, “I knew the moment you called him a Lieutenant Colonel instead of a Major. No offense Mustang but I need to hear the most important things first. Armstrong’s promotion doesn’t surprise me and frankly, if they had chosen anyone else they would be in deep shit.” Gold eyes flicked to the tent flap with a sardonic grin, voice lowering. “That is if they don’t already consider themselves there with me in charge. Old, cynical bastards.”

Mustang’s eyes bulge. It’s almost funny enough to make Ed laugh.

“Hit me with the biggest details, Major. We’ll work our way through the list.” Mustang nods and goes to salute but again Ed cuts him off with a disapproval. “And don’t do that shit if I’m the only one you’re gonna be addressing. The salute  _ or _ ‘sir’. I don’t care for it. Never have and I hope I never will otherwise I’ll find someone to do me in.”

“R-Right…”

“Ed is fine.”

Another nod. “Ed.” Mustang looks down and Ed can only help but wonder what it is they’re thinking. He doubts the man knew what he was getting into by being asked to stay - which assumes Alex had made the man stay. Though that raises the question to why. Ed could hypothesize but it would be easiest to hear it from Alex himself. The blonde sighs and swings his legs over the side of the cot. He doesn’t have a shirt but thank god he has pants. The boots are nice too.

“Right.” Ed lays his arms on his knees, preparing to listen. Mustang looks up and meets his eyes head-on. The bold action speaks for itself and Ed misses that brazen quality in people. Hasn’t seen it in….years. “Well. Jardon and Fischer were put in charge of clean-up under your orders before you…”

“You can say ‘passed out’ or ‘fell unconcious’ you know.” Ed smirks. “Just don’t use ‘fainted’.”

Another nod.

“After you passed out, Armstrong carried you back to the camp with Grand and myself accompanying the both of you. A soldier named Rohannes came running up to our group before we reached where the cannons laid and relayed orders sent from Jardon asking for your presence.” Rohannes had been in the sniping unit off to the sides and out of the way of fire. He’ll have to see if everyone is alright. As for Jardon…. He had been the better behaved of the two. Still, what right did he have commanding Ed’s- Right. Ed’s the CO of the Brigade. Not just his Battlion or Company. “Seeing as you were incapacitated, Armstrong had sent her back off with a reply to wait for him. I was sent to help with- with the dead but word is you were brought here and attended to by a physician. They all thought for a while that you were somehow hurt. Many of the soldiers who saw you before Armstrong reached this tent saw the….blood.”

“Hence why my shirt is missing,” Ed grumbles beneath his breath. Fucking doctors. Still, it makes sense but he wants to quickly move on from that trail of thought. “Continue.”

“It quickly spread that you were in fact not hurt at all. Everyone thinks it was a bought of heat stroke. Anyways, Armstrong initially met with Jardon and Fischer to explain the situation. Instead of waiting, they promoted Armstrong in your place. From there, it was following your orders to the letter. In all honesty...we only just finished an estimated half an hour ago. Armstrong found me, ordered me to stay with you for when you woke and to keep everyone else out. Then he went off to meet with Jardon and Fischer. And that brings us to here.”

‘-brings us here’ indeed. Put the person no one wishes to cross or threaten in place to protect the piece deemed more important. Ed knows it was more than that. But he also knows that of all the men and women here, he could be considered the Kingpin not only because he knows exactly why they were all in this desert but because of how necessary he will one day be. Alex knows this just as well. He had been there when Greed first blabbed.

“And how long have I been out, Mustang.”

“I would say five and a half hours, sir.”

Ed blanches and just about whines as he bemoans, “What did I say about that?”

Mustang -the bastard- smirks. “If you want me to call you Ed then I insist you call me Roy.”

“Ass,” Ed mutters with narrowed eyes. After a beat or two of silence, Ed surrenders with a flippant wave of his hand. “Fine! Did Alex say anything else before he left you here,  _ Roy _ .”

If anything, the emphasis on the alchemist’s name seems to make their smile grow larger. Ed rolls his eyes. “Not at all, Edward.”

Ed hums and looks at rug that serves as the tent’s floor, foot tapping as he thinks. He needs to speak with Alex, talk damage control, and go through what they should be doing next. Planning. Ed also needs to see if he can find Vessman’s original plans. Hypothetically speaking, he can ask Fischer or Jardon but Edward doesn’t trust them to tell the absolute truth. No, it’s best if he can find records to go off of. Worst case scenario, he asks one of them and then gets some form of confirmation from Grand or Mustang. Like hell would he ask Kimblee. Fucking convoluted psychopath. He’s heard and read enough about the man to never want to meet them.

Right, getting back on track. First decision. To go with or without a shirt? None of his clothes are in here and Mustang wouldn’t know where to look. Further than that, Ed doesn’t trust Musta- Roy (might as well start) with rifling through Alex’s belongings. Ed raises his eyes, intent to look for  _ something _ to cover himself with. It’s around noon and with the sun as high as it is… Ed really doesn’t need to get actual heat stroke or a damn sunburn - again. They would only slow him down and he has a goal. He’s about to suggest using the tent itself as a joke when his eyes catch something. A cheshire grin spreads across his lips. Without any explanation, he sits up and holds out a hand, demanding, “Gimme your jacket.”

Roy’s head rears back with obvious confusion. He looks down at his sleeves somewhat dumbly (another thing to chortle about in the back of Ed’s head) before flatly stating, “My jacket.”

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

Roy blinks….blinks again...then sighs and closes his eyes. He sighs like the order is a whole load of trouble to deal with, like Ed is putting him out. Ed watches, always thinking, always analyzing. He’s never been any good at deciphering people in general but when putting his mind to it, Ed would say it’s almost as if-

“Alright, I  _ suppose _ I can let you borrow it.” Roy takes off the jacket and unceremoniously hands it over, posture nonchalant with an easy-going grin on his lips.

“You,” Ed starts, slowly reaching that last bit of distance in order to grab the garment. “You know how to read someone pretty damn well. Enough to pander without being a sycophant.”

Roy lists a brow but otherwise stays silent, grin turning into something muted and his eyes seem to sharpen. Patient. As Ed slowly takes the jacket back and lays it on his lap, he can only think it’s weird.

“Most everyone writes me off as a kid, not taking the ‘State Alchemist’ part seriously. Or it’s the other way around. But you… It feels like you’re taking both into consideration. I push and you push back only as much as I give. You play along without being…” Ed pauses, looking down at his hands. Being what? Stilted? Tense? Uncomfortable? Roy’s being a decent human being. He’s being  _ respectful _ instead of awed or fearful. It’s the kind of respect Ed prefers and Roy is doing it without a fuss after Ed asked. But-

“Why?”

He doesn’t look back up, almost fearful of what he will see. Hope spreads like warmth in his chest. Ed is...scared he’ll see it turn to ice again.

At first, Roy doesn’t answer and Ed thinks the worst. That Roy is only being kind because he has to be. Maybe he’s only adapting to Ed’s whims and adopting a mask to hide his disgust or terror or annoyance. Alex was a one in a million chance of a friend. His big heart is the only reason Ed wasn’t reported in Dublin and he knows it. 

“Why do I treat you like an actual person?” Roy asks, stalling Ed’s thoughts in their tracks. Ed nods, knowing he should look Roy in the eyes but not feeling like he could. The weakness frustrates him. Why can’t he just-

“Why not?” Surprise shocks him into looking up, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. And Roy looks amused but well-meaning. “You’re human. And out of everyone in this camp, you’re probably the one reason we all kept fighting and moving after clean-up. I’m sure some of the others looked at you and thought about their kids or nephews and nieces or cousins. Maybe they looked at you and were reminded of what they have to protect. You’re a symbol.”

It takes some time before Ed can form a response.

“What about you?”

“Hm?”

“What do you see?”

Again, more silence but this one feels charged. Roy looks at Ed like he’s weighing his answers, looking back and forth between Ed’s eyes. Something wins out because the man relaxes and gives a pained smile.

“I see a cause worth fighting for.”

And Ed studies Roy because that sounds like the truth but not the whole of it. His features close off and hide the vulnerability so openly shown before. Roy can only keep the contact for so long before looking down and to the side, letting the smile fall away and leaving the pain.

Ed knows pains. What Roy is showing is genuine.

Ed isn’t sure what to make of Roy’s response. Maybe he’s a justification for the people Roy has killed in this war. Maybe he’s a reason to continue. He’s just not...sure. And he doesn’t think he ever will be. For now, that will have to do.

The jacket Roy handed over is lifted up and Ed slides his arms into the sleeves.

“I don’t like playing games so I’ll be upfront and sometimes painfully blunt.” He’s watching where he puts his arms, careful about the clothing. “I don’t completely trust you and I doubt you’re telling me everything which is fine. But I like how...considerate you’re being.”

He stands and pats down the front, making sure it lines up correctly despite obviously being too big. Only after he’s sure it looks right does he peer up at Roy with a soft grin. The other man had stood up with Ed.

“Thank you.”

“I’m only doing what everyone else should,” Roy returns and dips his head in acceptance. “I hope you’ll be alright with my accompanying you wherever it is you plan on going. Armstrong had asked I stay with you until he could come back to your side at some point.”

“Well it’s a good thing we’re going to him then.” Ed starts off for the exit, Mustang only a step behind.

“And what does that mean for me?” There’s faint traces of amusement Ed hears.

“Obviously to come with.” He tosses the response over his shoulder along with another wave.

Ed isn’t prepared for what he may find outside the tent but it doesn’t stop him from moving forward, putting one foot in front of the other. He quickly thinks of the worst scenarios he can in relation to today’s events just before snagging the flaps out of his way. And what he sees is...surprising and maybe just a little bit awe-inspiring.

The moment his head pops out of the massive tent he has two soldiers silently saluting and giving him determined nods of their heads. It sets the theme for the entire walk. Everywhere he looks, people are doing something whether it be talking, cleaning a weapon, working out, playing some sort of game but they all have a restored air of determination. It doesn’t matter where he goes or who is near. If they see or meet eyes with him, they give a nod. Sometimes a small smile. Always a straighter stance. Not proud but determined. 

Stalwart.

These people look haggard but above it all resolute and tenacious with a new air of loyalty. And seeing the newfound respect and protectiveness in many of them forces Ed to realize the loyalty is to him. But is it earned from- from killing or from doing his best to minimize how many of their own fall? Before his thoughts can spiral downwards, someone is bringing his attention back to the present.

“Roy!”

Ed looks up and towards the source, remotely realizing they’re almost to their destination. Whoever they are, they look excited, intelligent eyes only on Roy. From the waist down they’re dressed in the standard uniform. But above that, all they have on is a white tank top. Other than that, all they have on are their glasses. It takes a moment but soon he places who they are.

“Hughes!” Ed nearly jumps as he and Roy speak the name at the same time. He quickly looks over and finds the same surprised countenance. Hughes laughs, finally making his way over to them. He’s not alone.

“Sorry. I uh, I recognized you,” Ed bashfully states. All the while he takes note of the blonde woman accompanying Hughes.

“It’s no problem, Colonel!” Hughes replies with a chuckle and bright smile. “Mind if I join you and Roy for a bit?”

Ed blinks owlishly. “I don’t give a shit.”

Hughes snorts.

“Man, people weren’t kidding when they say you’ve got a mouth on you.”

Gold eyes narrow in thought and he crosses his arms. Is it worth it doing some sort of back and forth bantering and stalling? ...Actually, no. Hell no. Ed ends up rolling his eyes with a muttered ‘whatever’ before continuing on. He doesn’t miss the way the woman watches him with keen eyes.

Behind him, Hughes and Roy chat amicably while Ed easily leads the way to Alex. The woman though stays silent.

‘ _ Who is she?’ _ He can’t stop wondering about it even as he walks, feeling her eyes on him every so often. Ed thinks he remembers seeing her before he slipped out of the cafeteria yesterday morning. She had been sitting with Hughes. It wouldn’t surprise Ed if they had been sitting with Roy after Ed managed to evade the curious man.

He waves to a soldier he faintly recognizes from his old Company and the other beams and waves right back.

‘ _ It doesn’t matter right now though I am curious.’ _ Ed looks down at his feet, hands in the pockets of his pants. A moment later, he shrugs and looks back to where he’s walking. ‘ _ If it becomes important, I’ll find out eventually. Something tells me that’ll be sooner rather than later. On the list of important items, knowing who the blonde is is low. If I find out, I find out. If not, oh well.’ _

This won’t be the last he sees Roy like this. Another gut instinct.

“The command tent,” Ed hears Hughes murmur. “Why are you with the Colonel if he’s coming here.”

“Orders,” Roy responds just as quietly.

“From who-”

“Colonel!” Alex is jogging their way after just exiting the tent, Fischer and Jardon not far behind. He stops a couple feet from Ed and salutes and Ed just knows the man is grinning beneath that mustache. “It is good to see you on your feet.”

Ed doesn’t respond at first, carefully watching the two Lieutenant Colonels leaving the site, talking to each other. Only Jardon has glanced over at Alex’s jubilant call. Surprisingly, Ed gets an even and respectful nod before they turned back to their discussion with Fischer. Odd. Ed blinks and turns his own attention on to Alex. Immediately he’s on edge.

Happy though his tone is, something urgent occurred. Ed’s best friend is unnaturally tense.

Ed opens his mouth but catches the first words before they can leave his lips.

‘ _ What happened?’ _

He can’t ask that, not with too many ears around. Instead, Ed leans his weight to one side, puts his fists on his hips, and gives Alex and thoroughly done look. “Just because I jump up in rank doesn’t mean you have to go back to those stupid titles and- and honorific things.”

Alex dips his head with a, “Of course...sir.”

Damn nuthead.

Ed’s best friend turns to address Roy.

“Major Mustang, you have my thanks for watching over Colonel Elric while he recuperated,” Alex warmly intoned, hands behind his back. “You are dismissed for the evening. Please, enjoy today as much as possible.”

Edward knows everyone understands the unsaid sentiment.

_ Enjoy it while there is time left to enjoy. _

“Of course, sir.” Roy formally salutes before relaxing and turning back to his friends. The group of three make off, heading...wherever.

“Let’s head to your tent,” Ed says after a few moments. He glances over at Alex, face resigned. ‘ _ No rest for the wicked.’  _ “I need to grab my things. It’s official. I now have to move into a seperate tent.” Alex hums and begins to lead the way, Edward making sure to keep up with the big guy.

“I suppose this has been somewhat inevitable.” Alex’s voice is soft with understanding. “Vessman had encouraged you to move into your own tent sooner. I believe you mentioned something to that extent, yes?”

Ed nods, keeping his eyes forward. He stuffs his hands into his pockets.

“I thought so. And now considering your position, it would be best to finally make good on it.” Alex huffs a breath and when Ed peers up, he sees another amused smile. “One would say you’re finally moving out.”

Ed squawks. Then he huffs, crosses his arms, and looks away, indignant in his reply.

“Then it’s sure as hell good you’re not my dad, huh?”

“I think you as a young child would drive me to insanity,” Alex deadpans and this time when Ed looks, he’s sporting a downright cheeky grin.

“Jerk.”

“I have no idea what you mean, Colonel.”

The title makes Ed groan.

“All joking aside, congratulations on the promotion.”

Edward clucks his tongue and glares down at the ground. He brings his arms up and cups the back of his head with interlaced fingers. “Some fucking promotion.”

Alex gives Ed a sympathetic look at the shorter blonde’s grumbling.

“I didn’t ask to be left in charge of everyone... I’ve got a bad feeling Alex. A real bad one. Nothing good is going to come out of me being the leader here. I’m not-”  _ ‘prepared’ _ “I’m not suited for this.” Alex says nothing as he lays a hand on Ed’s shoulder. No disagreement or reassurance. Just support. Ed isn’t sure which he would prefer more but this is a good place to settle. Ed shakes his head.

“So what now, big guy?” He looks up at Alex. The man sighs and lets the hand fall away.

“There is some important information I need to tell you but privacy is needed.” He hesitates here. “It’s not good. Not for me. Not for you. I’m-...” Alex shakes his head. “Not here.”

Ed turns back, seeing Alex’s tent starting to come into view.

“We’ll grab my shit, bring it back, and discuss then, sound good?”

“Perfect.”

Ed doesn’t pay as much attention when they reach the tent. He goes in on autopilot and starts gathering his things, mind going a mile a minute. Some important detail niggles at the back of his head but as soon as he tries reaching for it, it turns into smoke. Alex is right. Without knowing why, Ed knows Alex is right. Ed isn’t going to like it but he’s going to have to deal with it.

In no time at all, his meager belongings are packed together. Well, more like rolled up as all he really has is a few sets of clothing, a pillow, and one of his issued blankets. He leaves the second blanket with Alex, knowing he already has two more waiting back at his new tent. Three should be enough to keep him warm in the night. He hopes. Ed lays a hand on his metal arm, feeling the hardness through the jacket he borrowed from Mustang. And there's another task on his to-do list.

‘ _ I gotta return this as soon as I’m done talking with Alex.’ _

He won’t need it after he gets one of his own shirts on.

Ed climbs out of the small tent and stands back up, dusting off his pants. With his bundle of items underneath an arm, he looks up at Alex and nods. Not another word is said as Alex leads the way back. Ed takes this time to observe the camp once again.

By now the sun is high in the sky and lunch has only just begun to be served. Most people are eagerly making their way over. Some more than others. He sees two men jogging by, trading teasing jokes and pushing at each other, rough-housing. One almost trips and then it becomes a juvenile game of tag where the loser will get a face full of sand. Ed grins, a little let down when they turn the corner. Guess he won’t get to see the winner of that tussle. Kind of wishes he could’ve been a part of it but… It’s like he told Roy. Either they take him only as either a kid or a State Alchemist. For many of these men and women, there is no in-between. Either he’s too much to joke around with or he’s too young to really horse around. He misses it. Misses the sparring he and his little brother used to do, misses that kind of camaraderie. And holy shit does he wish he could smash that barrier keeping him from experiencing that again.

They’re almost back to Ed’s tent when he meekly speaks up.

“Hey, Alex?”

“Yes?”

“Do you…” He stalls and almost wavers before forcing himself to continue on. “Would it be alright if we sparred sometime soon?”

And just like with Roy, he doesn’t dare look up. Then again, he doesn’t really need to.

“Of course.”

Doesn't need to look up when he can hear the smile in Alex’s voice.

Ed grins and doesn’t say anything more as they finally reach the tent. He leads the way in, pushing aside a flap and beelining the cot where he dumps his bundle. The chair by it is unceremoniously snatched and lugged to sit behind the desk - where it belongs. Ed leaves it set back a bit and hops up to sit on the desk itself. One small clap and a faint touch to the chair has it strong enough to hold Alex’s significant bulk. He leaves the offer of the chair open. Alex doesn’t take it, surprising Ed by pacing in front of the desk. Ed frowns and places his elbows on his knees.

If it’s got Alex pacing then this really is a horrible turn of events.

Ed waits it out and eventually, after what must be ten minutes of moving about, Alex takes the chair. He sags forward in it, stress so easy to spot now that he’s not holding himself so carefully. His elbows are on his knees and he rubs his face with his hands before stilling. He doesn't move. He doesn’t speak. Until he does.

“You and I know from Greed’s missive that the false philosopher stones are on their way.” He speaks so softly he’s practically breathing out the words. Ed doesn’t respond. He sits up straighter and crosses his arms but doesn’t say a thing. “We’ve received news from Amestris. Tim Marcoh is gone as you and Greed planned. He’s been declared a deserter and is to be shot on site if anyone finds him. Regardless, they finished his work. It was easy. After all, they only had the one step left - to activate the array. But I think something went wrong in your plan.”

Ice grips Ed’s heart when Alex lifts his head out of his hands and meets Ed’s gaze. The look in his eyes is worried, scared, and lost. So helplessly lost. What’s gone wrong? What could possibly have gone so wrong that it leaves a wretched look on Alex?

“Wrath is coming.”

Between the instant Alex finishes and Ed’s eyes widen, Ed’s dreams come rushing back in a monumental flood.

The ravens.

The stone.

Truth.

The train.

_'Don’t disappoint me now, Edward Elric.'_  
_'Soon, Father.'_  


 

“Fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: As soon as I finished typing "A cause worth fighting for." the song 'A Girl Worth Fighting For' from the movie Mulan was stuck in my head for two days. All I have to say on that is '...Fuck.'
> 
> The opening scene I devised while sleep deprived and now after rereading it so many times just sounds SO WRONG in my head. I can't even pinpoint for the reason why but if any of you can catch it, please tell me. It's eating me up inside man.
> 
> WC: 5,599


End file.
